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venus-is-thinking · 1 year ago

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Hello! Hopefully we’re not stealing thebadjoe’s thunder here, but accirax and I decided to take a crack at the Ace murder theory. So, as I’m sure you’ve become accustomed to, we’re going to run through your theory before proposing our own alternate version of how the attempted murder on Ace actually went.

Your text is indented. Let’s go!

“1- Ace's body and wounds: Ace's body is sitting against a wall, slumped over. His neck has what seem to be three slice-type wounds across the front. These are the only visible wounds we know of. His face is angry, but this being Ace, it'd be weirder if it wasn't.”

At first, we thought this was true as well. However, if you turn up the saturation on Ace’s body discovery, you will actually notice something VERY interesting.

Even before Ace wakes up, there’s blood on his right hand. Not only that, there’s also some amount of blood (it’s hard to tell how much) on his inner right arm. Given that he’s presumably unconscious until Teruko and Eden see him wake up, that means that the blood is there not from Ace gripping at his own throat, but from the murder method itself. Obviously, because this is a flaw in the perceived evidence, it has big implications on the murder as a whole. We were about 2-3 hours into theories before noticing this, so we definitely almost missed it too.

“13?- ???: So, uh, I got no idea what's going on in this general area. Apart from the bench press bar apparently disappearing, there seems to be a whole ass chunk of a mirror missing, which makes absolutely zero sense. It almost looks like someone took a bite off the damn thing, but I don't think anyone here eats glass, not even MonoTV. I imagine this is an animation error, but I'll point it out anyways in case it's somehow important.”

So this is… not an error exactly? Kind of? Just an unfortunate mistake, in my opinion.

As something of a 3D animator myself (this is Accirax tagging in for the actual typing, to be clear), I’m pretty sure that the entire gym (minus any characters that appear in it) is made of 3D models. The fans definitely are– that’s how their spinning animation could be completed with the least amount of effort– but things like the dumbbells are also composed of few faces in a low poly sort of way. I can go into further detail on why the creator would choose to model the gym in 3D, but I don’t want to make this theory needlessly long(er) with nerdy rambling if it’s not wanted.

The bar of the bench press is a 3D model, and in particular, it’s one made to have a shiny metal texture on it. Being shiny means that any lights used to illuminate the scene would affect it dramatically. And, of course, as a reflective surface, it’s prone to pick up the colors of the environment around it.

I’m pretty sure that all that happened here is that the bar got rotated to an unfortunate foreshortened angle where its color wound up looking the same all over, and that color was the same reflected hue of the wall. As I pointed out in the above image, you can actually still see the hooks that the bar usually rests on from this side view. I know I’ve had weird shader issues like this with various objects before, so I think it was just a software-generated optical illusion that the creator didn’t catch.

So yeah. Even though your theory has plenty of bite to it, I don’t think you have to worry about Nico having a bite of this mirror :D

“But since no one ever corrects her, I believe turpentine just... works differently in the DRDT universe.”

Yeah, we got nothing. I’m not gonna pretend to know about how turpentine works, so what they say in text goes.

“All these questions lead me to one answer. Nico wasn't actively trying to murder Ace when Eden and Teruko entered the scene, they were cleaning the crime scene.”

We think this is 100% correct. The state of the gym is too… weird to be mid-murder. I think the best explanation is that Nico got partway through cleaning up the crime, but didn’t get to finish. That explains some things potentially being displaced from their original spot, but also not necessarily exactly where they were when the murder went down.

“Now, as you may remember, there were two pieces of wire in the gym; one by itself, and one taped to the fan. A lot of people assume these two were pieces of the same wire, which was broken when the fan went down, probably. “However, I do not believe this is the case… They can be broken, quite easily with enough effort and tools, but not easily snapped.”

I haven’t exactly run the math, so we’re trusting you here. It definitely seems like it’d be really hard for a solid metal wire to snap, and as you’ll see later, we think that having two different wires might actually be a plus for the murder method.

“One of the evidence pieces which confused me the most at first was, without a doubt, the non-functioning fan on the left. Why the hell isn't it moving? It's not the other fan falling, as we see the fan on the left working independently the next day. Clearly, something happened which broke this fan, and it may have broken the other one as well.”

Thebadjoe mentioned this in their most recent response to your response of their theory, but I think an on/off switch would by far make the most sense. Nico probably would’ve wanted to turn off the right fan to take it down to put the tape and wire and stuff on it, and if we assume that’s possible, it seems like the left fan was just turned off. It also makes sense that Nico may have wanted the fan off again during cleanup–we’ll explain our thoughts on this later.

“Just so you can get a taste of the insanity required to come up with something which is at least even slightly believable, here's a highlight reel of the silliest ideas I seriously considered at one point or another!”

In insane theorist solidarity, we’ll include some of the things we did too! Some of our best are:

Thinking we had a revelation that Nico had a third section of wire when Teruko literally said that Nico dropped the wire we see on the ground

Accirax doing various squats against the wall to try to figure out Ace’s body positioning

Me lifting a chair across the room and dragging it along the wall to simulate possible ways Nico could’ve moved Ace’s body around the crime scene

Holding up several objects (ex. Phone, pen, water glass, arm) and saying “okay so this is Ace”

Suggesting that Nico brought like seven cloaks to the scene to be used at various points in the almost-murder yet not explaining why they still weren’t wearing one

Lightly wrapping my computer charge cord around my neck to simulate the wire (don't worry I was safe)

“The lone wire could have even been tied around itself to triple over itself, if the length was still too long for the killer's taste. This would also help to explain the multiple injuries on his neck.”

So, to clarify, we do agree that Ace was only injured on the front of his neck, not the back.

There is a visible gap between the end of the top scratch and the part of his neck that’s covered by his hair. That part is approximately the same color as the shadows seen elsewhere on his neck and face, meaning that is probably an uncut portion of his neck with a shadow cast on it from the lock of his hair.

That being said, that poses a problem: if the wire were tied around itself and tripled over itself, wouldn’t the wire be clean at certain points, where it wrapped around the back of Ace’s neck? Theoretically, there wouldn’t be any blood there, so any wire that goes around the back wouldn’t have blood. Tripling it around would make it hard to have the continuous line of blood that we see.

“The first concern you may have is the length of the wire system. Keeping in mind the fan-wire is attached to the end of the blade, it would practically be impossible for this system to work if the fan spins all the way.”

This is absolutely a concern we have, but more with our theory than yours. Basically, we looked at the wire, and it looks… REALLY short. Like, both sections of wire, but especially the one attached to the fan. I don’t feel like the wire is long enough to reach, like, the pull up bar, and it’s definitely not long enough to get down to Ace’s height level and still have the slack to wrap around Ace in any way to fasten it. Your theory seems to look more at how to avoid the wire being too long, but I really feel like the problem with length is on the wire being too short, not too long.

This is all to say that we’re treating the wire length like it’s not a problem at all and just… assuming it’s drawn shorter than it probably should be. As long as the ratio of blood to wire length is at least close to right, it shouldn’t be… too much of a problem? Hopefully? The bloodstain patterns are definitely more important, at least.

“Using the broom and probably the stool, the almost-killer would be able to make the fan move on their whim.”

We’re stealing this. It’s the best way to explain the need for the broom. The stool could be just to mess with the ceiling fans, but the broom is what really sells me, as it’s one of only two pieces of evidence (other than the wire) that seem to have been brought to the scene of the crime. (Though, I also feel like they could’ve just stolen the bench press bar, but whatever.)

“I mean, it could definitively cause bleeding, but the wounds would likely be quite shallow, unless the wire is ultra sharp. It seems like a pretty bad murder system if it only leaves mostly superficial wounds.”

Maybe this is assuming that the characters can figure out murders or whatever, but it is true that Eden and Levi express concern at Ace leaving the cuts untreated. To me, that signaled that, if Ace hadn’t bandaged his neck (as we see in his later sprites), he could’ve bled out and died. Just because the murder system didn’t cause instant death doesn’t necessarily mean that, had everything gone right, Ace wouldn’t have died in the end.

“Well, if you don't want a liquid to stain a floor, what can you do? You can drape something over the floor so that gets stained instead of the floor. And this is how I plan to explain Nico's missing cloak.”

This definitely makes sense. After our struggles with figuring out where of many places Nico’s cloak could be used, we decided that (assuming there’s only one cloak at the scene of the crime) it’s basically impossible to pull off this crime with so little blood if you’re doing anything but full-time blood collection with the cloak. So, full-time blood collection it is!

“It's the other place where blood should have been in this method. Since Ace's neck must reach the base of the noose, it would touch the pull-up bar and stain it with blood. Or rather, it would stain the tape on the pull-up bar with blood. The tape which is also missing.”

While we don’t have the same struggles with blood on… this tape, at least, I think this is definitely decisive proof that Nico must’ve cleaned something up and gotten it out of the room. That goes for the cloak, too.

We do also think that the pull-up bar was used, just in a different way. We’ll get there.

“It also gives credence to the theory the killer taped the isolated weights to Ace's chest, since one missing piece of tape could imply two missing pieces of tape.”

And if there were two missing pieces of tape, maybe there could be three (copious) uses of missing tape! Haha… ha.

“Since I believe Nico's cloak was involved in the setup, but was later removed, I firmly assert Nico is the sole almost-murderer.”

Just wanted to use this as an opportunity to say that Ace definitely thought Nico was the killer. After waking up, Ace 100% calls Nico out by name before Teruko or Eden name drop them. That means that, in Ace’s mind, there’s no doubt that Nico is his would-be killer.

Like you mentioned in your discussion with thebadjoe, the fact that Teruko and Eden are there when Ace wakes up could make him suspicious of them, given that he’s prone to jump to conclusions. However, I think that an even stronger point in this argument is our very own (probably) murderer without remorse: Levi.

Levi directly threatened to kill Ace in the first trial, and looking at, like, all of Chapter 2’s daily life, Ace sure as hell isn’t about to forget it. You could argue Ace might expect Nico, someone who verbally threatened his life that very day, over Teruko and Eden. However, Levi’s existence complicates the dynamics enough that, if Ace hadn’t known who knocked him out (considering he’s been unconscious the whole time), he probably would’ve said something like “who was it?!” or “someone tried to kill me! I can’t trust any of you!”

He couldn’t have seen Nico walk in after someone else had almost killed him, because again, he was unconscious. Still, Ace hasn’t been shy about thinking people were trying to kill him before. Why would he think only Nico would now?

“I think this line could imply Ace made the mistakes being referred to, and Nico feels as though they don't have to own up for that. Like, "Ace was the one who fucked around, I just made them find out".”

I definitely like this interpretation of the secret quote. Accirax has (accurately, I think) described Nico as “all bite, no bark” in contrast to Ace’s “all bark, no bite”. This definitely makes sense with the mindset of, “Ace started the fight, I’ll finish it.” Ace starts the fight with his threat; Nico plans to finish it with a murder.

(Side note, I’m very curious if Nico will run into any trouble with that rule about all murderers all getting what they deserve or whatever. Ace consistently calls Nico a murderer despite the murder not actually succeeding, so it’s possible that’s meant to hint us towards it. That would also explain why Nico’s secret quote relates to them feeling like they’re the one who has to “own up” to what Ace did.)

“They would push the body off the wire, moving the benches to maneuver better, but their movements are sort of sloppy. This results in the rightmost bench falling over, and when they push Ace up against the wall, they do so haphazardly, leaving behind a small blood stain behind his neck.”

Again, we’re in agreement on there being no blood on the back of Ace’s neck. However, in that case, how does the bloodstain get behind his neck? If there’s no blood on the back of Ace’s neck, it shouldn’t be able to stain the wall.

“Nico would want to take care of the most incriminating evidence first: their bloodstained cloak.”

100% agree with this. The cloak is the #1 priority, but you have to move Ace to get at it.

“They initially try things like untying the noose or undoing the knot in the middle, but they're worried about blood getting on them or getting cut by the wire.”

Worth mentioning that I assume the wire is unsharp enough that it’d be hard to cut yourself on accident by just, like, holding it. Maybe if you’re trying to untie a knot or something (idk how you’d tie the knot without cutting yourself either, though). I think this sharpness interpretation is supported by the fact that we do see Nico handling the wire in the BDA, but not having cut hands or anything when we see their sprites, which clearly show both their hands (albeit only the backs of them).

“Nico runs away, and probably picks up their cloak on the way as to at least have the slightest argument for their innocence. Since the lone pieces of tape are there, Nico probably picks them up too.”

Makes sense and is almost certainly true, given that MonoTV says one night later that it took the trash out two nights ago. That means anything from this murder that landed in that trash can would’ve still been there as of the Arei investigation, so that’s definitely not where it ended up long-term.

Alternatively, as long as the bloody cloak was within the gym when MonoTV began to clean up the crime scene, MonoTV presumably would have disposed of it like the other evidence it discarded/reset. Of course, we don’t see the cloak anywhere in the gym, so you might be asking where it could have been. Well, Nico could have been storing the cloak in the gym fridge for the time being, with the intention of either tossing it in the trash or smuggling it back into their room once the scene of the crime was arranged how they wanted it. Said arrangement was interrupted by Teruko and Eden, but Nico obviously wasn’t aware that was going to happen.

“Essentially, it's possible the weight rack was moved by Ace to train. If he was bench pressing, it would make sense for him to bring the weight rack closer to the... bench press bench? You know what I mean. And then, when the killer attacked them with turpentine, the rack was toppled over in the struggle.”

So… problem. At first, this seemed pretty plausible to us too. After all, it’s not like the two of us ever go to the gym either. Still, it seemed kind of… odd. Wouldn’t it be, like, WAY easier for Ace to only move the weights he planned on using?

We wanted to know exactly how much easier it was. So, we decided to run the math. There are like ten or so of the smallest weights, which would probably weigh around 2.5 lbs if Amazon can help us. If the next ones are 5s, then 10s, then 25s, following a standard weight set, the total comes out to…

Around 250 lbs (113 kg), not including the weight of the rack itself. AKA, over twice Ace’s body weight. So, I don’t really see why the hell he’d pull the entire rack over (or how he could without unloading a ton of the weights, then moving it, which defeats the entire purpose). It also means that it’d be really hard to knock over on accident. Much more likely to just run into it and get a nasty bruise or something.

Basically, what this extra weight meant to us is that the position of the weight rack must be extremely intentional. There’s no reason that anyone would go to the effort of moving something so heavy unless they really needed it in a specific place. This will be very important in terms of why we constructed our theory the way we did.

“I believe it's possible Nico wanted Ace to wake up after receiving his neck injuries. That way, he'd be weakened by the blood loss and the pain, but still conscious when Nico actually killed them.”

This is certainly possible. We have a couple of alternatives that we like a bit better, but this is definitely one reasonable interpretation.

“They dragged Ace's body to the benches. They propped him up there on his knees, letting his neck press down onto the wire system, specifically a part of the fan-wire. Once they made sure he wasn't going to fall, they quickly made their way to the stepstool, grabbed the broom, and got on it.”

So, here we are. The biggest problem that I have with this theory is that I just… don’t think it would work? Like, Ace’s unconscious body is kneeling on a bench. The only reason he is not falling flat on his face is that his neck is on a wire, which is hanging between the fan and the pullup bar.

Now Nico moves the fan, and therefore the wire which Ace’s entire body is balanced upon, probably precariously. Rather than falling onto the floor, the wire slowly and steadily cuts into Ace’s neck, which… I don’t know, makes him less likely to fall? Because it’s making the wire more “attached” to him, or something?

Please let us know if we’re misinterpreting what you’re proposing here, but the way we’re understanding it, I don’t see how Ace doesn’t just fall on the floor every time Nico tries to make it move. I guess if Nico sliced Ace’s neck with the wire a bit first, sort of like a pilot hole for a screw, it might work better? But at that point, you’d really have to start asking why they’d bother with the whole contraption.

“As his neck dragged over the rolled up lone wire, various shallow cuts opened in his skin. Ace's head touched the pull-up bar's tape, staining it and the base of the noose with blood.”

I don’t think Ace’s neck would be high enough to touch the base of the noose on accident. He’s only 5’5” (190.5 cm), so I feel like this would’ve had to be intentional to actually get the blood over there, and I’m not sure why Nico would do that, especially if they’re standing on a stool across the room.

“Overall, I think these holes aren't too big, and considering I'm expecting to get lots of things wrong here, I'm comfortable enough with my answer to put it out there for peer review.”

Peer review complete! There’s definitely a lot that we don’t completely agree with, but you did a lot of brilliant work towards setting up the basics of a murder plan, so we’re definitely piggybacking off of you here.

That being said, it’s time to jump into…

Our Murder Theory!

There’s a lot to talk about here. To sort of reset from ground zero, let’s take a look at the crime scene, before the murder and when Teruko sees it. I took your screenshots of both sides of both scenes and stitched them together into a side by side view of the whole room.

Ignore the annotations, those are just me trying to figure out if which way the fan spins mattered (it really, really didn’t).

I’m going to just start off with listing off the main things that we believe must have been used in the murder, due to their obvious displacement.

The wire. Duh.

The right ceiling fan. It’s off the goddamn ceiling. Something happened to it.

The weight rack. This thing weighs a lot, so if it’s moving that far and neatly laying on its side, that must be intentional.

The pull-up bar. The tape that previously covered it is missing, meaning it was either in the way or critical evidence to be disposed of.

The broom and the stepladder. They aren’t from the gym, which means someone must’ve brought them there. That’s important.

The isolated weights. They’re too far from the weight rack to be unsuspicious.

The moved benches near the pull-up bar. These are only somewhat displaced, but something must have happened to prompt their displacement.

The bench press bench. We think this was probably only moved slightly in order to allow room for the weight rack to be there, but its position did change, so we’ll include it.

So, with those elements, let’s make a murder!

STEP ONE: THE FAN, PART ONE

So, you’re Nico (oof). You just ambushed Ace… somehow, and knocked him out with the turpentine. (I’m not gonna speculate too hard without knowing the exact rules of turpentine.) He’s unconscious on the ground, and you’re about to mastermind a crazy contraption to kill this guy. Where do you start?

Well, the first step is getting set up. I think that setting anything up with the fan too early (read: before Ace shows up to the gym) would be too suspicious. It’d make it too hard to ambush Ace in the first place. He’s already a paranoid guy. If you suspect that you can do it while he’s unconscious (and, again depending on turpentine rules, maybe you can just… re-knock him out…?), it’s much better to do stuff with the fan after he’s already out.

So, Nico goes to the switch and turns the fans off, assuming they can. Nico then brings over the stepstool and, somehow, takes the fan off of the ceiling, likely using tools from the storage shed. Maybe they can fit it in their cloak, who knows.

Then, Nico attached the fan wire to the fan (wow!) with the grippy tape. Then, the fan goes back on the ceiling, still turned off. That means everything’s all set up for the second part (which, admittedly, kind of encapsulates… every part).

STEP TWO: JOCKEYING FOR POSITION

The next step involves getting Ace into place, which also involves getting, like, the entire goddamn murder set up all at once. Please just bear with us while we explain why Nico puts stuff in certain places, it’ll make sense once we get to how the actual contraption works.

So, you first bring Ace over to the pull-up bar, moving the left of the two benches to be underneath it. You set Ace up to kneel on the bench, facing away from the bar. Notably, Nico would also put their cloak underneath the bench, or possibly on top of it? Whichever is better for catching the blood. The next step is to attach Ace to the pull-up bar so that, as a whole, he can’t move too far from it.

There’s only one point of contact between Ace and the bar, which is thoroughly adhered with tape: his right arm. It also attaches one side of the lone wire to the bar, which will be important later. Critically, this is the side of the lone wire which has blood on it, aside from the main bloody portion.

But, how do you attach the wire to the bar and also Ace to the bar? Simple: wrap the wire around Ace’s lower right arm, then tape his arm (with the wire attached) to the pull-up bar using a shit ton of grippy tape. It’d hold Ace pretty firmly in place from the right side, and it attaches the right side of the lone wire to the pull-up bar.

The next question is… well, one of Ace’s arms is attached to the bar now. What’s going on with his other arm?

That’s where the fan wire comes into play. Disclaimer, we’re making the fan wire, like, WAY longer than it should be, but it’s the way that makes the most sense to us, and like we said before, it really feels like it’s just… shorter than it’s supposed to be, for literally any sort of mechanical contraption murder.

So, the fan wire. This thing is now super long! (Just pretend. Please. We could not figure out how anything could work with such a short wire.) So, with this super long wire, we’re actually going to run it over to somewhere else before Ace: the weight rack.

So, why the weight rack? Well, basically, we’re using one of the spokes(???) that hold the weights as a pulley. Wrap the wire around the closest spoke, then pull it over to Ace. Notably, this is where the isolated weights come into play: the two isolated weights are put on top of the rope that’s using the spoke as a pulley to hold it in place. The weight holds it down so it doesn’t move around too much, and it’s an easy fit considering the weight rack is literally designed to have these weights on it.

(The rest of the weights are also on the weight rack at this point. Spoilers, but the entire rack is going to be an anchor point, so you’d want it to weigh as much as possible to avoid moving/jostling around, which means all the weights go back on after moving it.)

Pull the fan wire, which has now been wrapped around the spoke, to Ace’s neck. Now, we don’t need this to actually cut Ace’s neck (trust me bro), we just need it to attach to his neck. So, I think the easiest way to do this is to wrap it around the back of Ace’s neck, then wrap the end back around the front, probably securing it in a loop with, again, a shit ton of grippy tape.

The loose end of the wire is a bit of an issue. I think it’s a solvable one, though. The solution is to have Ace “hold” it.

Wrap the wire around Ace’s neck, starting from behind, then going in front. Then, take the end of the wire and place it just behind the back of Ace’s neck, right near where the cut stops on his left. Next, place Ace’s left hand over the end of the wire. This, if you press hard enough, should be enough to hold the wire in place. How do you secure his hand tightly enough in this position? Simple! Attach it with a shit ton of grippy tape!

The final step here involves a lot of grippy tape.

I’m sorry, please just hear me out.

The final thing you have to do to get this first part into place is attach the other end of the lone wire to the pull-up bar. This doesn’t have to be fancy; all that has to happen is getting the lone wire to hang in front of Ace’s neck.

Here’s a visual to help comprehend how Ace is looking right about now:

(I am so sorry you’re up against an art major on this one lmao. I’m sure this is exactly what my professors imagined me doing with my degree)

(Also, we realized that the way we drew it, Ace would be kneeling upright somehow, which doesn't make sense. Just imagine he's leaning with his throat on the wire.)

Hopefully, seeing this, things are starting to make more sense. Onto the next part of the plan!

STEP THREE: FAN SERVICE

It’s time to get those stupid bloodstains involved in this whole mess.

So, everything’s set up! It’s time for Nico to, as in your theory, get on that stool and spin the fan with the broom!

Basically, the idea here, is that when the fan spins (in either direction, doesn’t matter which), it pulls upwards on the wire. Then, because of the pulley at the weights, that’s converted into a wire pulling Ace downwards, starting from his neck. He can’t just be pulled onto the floor without his arm being pulled out of its socket, so instead, he just kinda… leans forward.

But wait, he can’t just lean forward! There’s a wire there!

Except, that’s the point. That’s how blood gets onto both the lone wire and the fan wire. Ace’s throat is cut by the lone wire, but the end of the fan wire is wrapped around the front of Ace’s neck. Thus, when the cut happens, both are in the splash zone.

Notably, the pulling would also stress Ace’s arm, which is attached to both the wire and the pull-up bar. This is how that section of the lone wire also gets blood on it, as well as Ace’s arm; it gets cut in the process as well.

While this plan only obviously creates one slash through Ace’s throat, he is still kinda just free floating there. The wire could slip, which could cause several gashes. Alternately, Nico could spin the fan back and forth, which would have the opportunity to make several incisions. Either way, I think it’s very plausible that this would do the right kind of damage to Ace’s neck.

(Both because his right arm is the one attached to the pull-up bar and because the weights are to Ace’s right, he would be getting pulled in the rightwards direction pretty hard. However, since we never really see the left side of Ace’s neck, and the cuts on the right go pretty far around the side of his neck, I think it’s okay if he’s potentially at an angle when his throat is getting sliced.)

So, that’s how the murder method itself actually works! Here’s an image showing the whole thing, which should hopefully make it comprehensible.

(so when does the second ace come into this case?)

STEP FOUR: CLEAN CUT

It’s time to clean up the crime! The most pressing thing to do is getting rid of that cloak, but it’s kind of hard to do that without moving Ace himself. So, the first thing Nico has to do is take down all the grippy tape on Ace: the back of his neck and his lower right arm. While you’re at it, you might as well get the rest of the tape on the pull-up bar, which includes the tape attaching the other end of the lone wire to the bar (which is now completely disconnected and portable, yay!) and the grippy tape that was on the bar before the murder for gym reasons instead of murder reasons.

Then, Nico takes all that tape and their cloak and disposes of it somehow. I think it’d make sense if Nico wrapped up the tape in their cloak and put it in the trash can with the intention of grabbing it out later; if they didn’t wrap the tape, it could be loose in the trash, and that could make a huge mess if they tried to pick it up later. Or again, they could have stuffed it all in the fridge as a later problem.

I’m not entirely sure why Nico wouldn’t dispose of the lone wire here, considering it is loose. One guess would be that, because there’s still the fan wire, they figure they’ll need another trip anyways, and they could be worried about not being able to fish the wire out of the trash/it cutting their cloak and letting the wire and/or tape loose in the trash can, making it harder to clean later. It’s also possible Nico was intentionally leaving the bloody lone wire at the crime, potentially incriminating Hu, whose custom weapon it was.

After that, they head back. After taking Ace down, they put him against the right bench near the pull-up bar, so that Ace’s right arm is up against the wall. It might jostle the bench’s position, but it stays in mostly the same place.

I also think this is probably when the bloodstain gets on the wall. It’s not a great explanation, considering the cut from the wire would be on the inside of Ace’s arm, and the outside is what would most logically be making contact with the wall. However, I do think it’s possible, if you consider that the blood was dripping.

I’m not just saying that, either; that’s our theory on why there’s blood on Ace’s glove before he clutches at his bleeding throat. There doesn’t appear to be a cut on his hand– or, perhaps more noticeably, in his right glove– so it seems like the blood must’ve come from somewhere else. So, our theory is that the blood from Ace’s inner arm drips down and stains his right glove.

Because of the height of the bloodstain, it makes the most sense if this stain, presumably from dripped blood along Ace’s arm, happens when Nico is moving Ace’s body. I don’t think Nico is that strong, so it’s possible Nico basically leaned Ace against the wall while moving him, which gives the opportunity for this streak (it looks like movement, from the left side of the wall to the right). Again, not the strongest explanation, but hopefully viable.

(As for why only that section of wall got stained… I don’t know, just how the timing of the bloodstains and what part of Ace was pressed against the wall lined up.)

Nico would then take the weight off of the pulley system, freeing the fan wire, setting up for later cleanup. While Nico was already moving those weights, though, they moved them over to the other side of the room, back towards where the weight rack originally was. Because Nico moved it as part of the murder, they wanted to put it back, as though it was never used in the first place. So, if they’re gonna carry those isolated weights anyways, they might as well do step one of the transport now. However, they waited on moving the rest of the weights until after their next task.

STEP FIVE: THE FAN (PART TWO)

That fan wire hanging from the sky is kind of annoying when doing mass weight cleanup, so Nico wants to take the fan down and take the wire off next. They use the stool to reach the fan, which is still turned off right now.

At this point, the most likely next step is that Nico slips up and the fan becomes dislodged– without them being ready to catch it. Because Nico is taking the fan down, it makes sense that they’d do something that loosens its attachment to the ceiling. If it fully detached when Nico wasn’t expecting it, it’s possible it could have fallen to the ground.

Except, it couldn’t have fallen to the ground. There’s a bench in the way, and, in a way, an Ace.

So, instead of hitting the ground, the fan hits the bench (BANG!). Then, the force of that causes the bench to fall over, hitting the ground, with the fan still on top of it, which also causes Ace to fall over (the clattering). Nico probably wouldn’t think this was a huge deal, believing everyone else to be asleep by now.

Unbothered, they prop Ace up against the wall instead of the bench so that he’s still out of the way, continuing to bleed out. Then, with the fan down (though more… roughly than they’d have wanted), they turn to the wires again. They go to pick up the lone wire, stretching it out to look at it, before intending to head over to the fan to undo that wire.

Except…

STEP ???: BANG BANG, INTO THE ROOM

Teruko and Eden enter. Nico is shocked, not having expected even one person, let alone two. Wire in hand, it’s possible one witness would be easily dealt with enough to get the jump on them and murder them immediately, as Xander tried to do with Min. With two, though, it’d be too likely that the other one could either stop Nico in their tracks or escape as a vital witness. Read: they’re screwed.

The best Nico can think of doing is just… fleeing the scene. Grab their cloak from the trash on the way out; if Nico’s bloody cloak is found near the crime scene, there’s literally no way to escape their guilt. Maybe, this way, Nico could pretend to have walked in on Ace’s murder scene and picked up the wire in shock or something. It’s the only possible way out left at this point.

And that leaves the scene how it is as Teruko and Eden see it. The weight rack is still on the ground, the benches are all disheveled, Ace is against the wall, the roll of grippy tape is on the ground, and the cloak and the large amounts of used grippy tape (seriously how is there even any left for Eden at this point) missing from the scene.

I’m sure it’s not perfect, but this is our best first pass of the theory of murder method to be similarly submitted for peer review.

Of course, we still need to talk about the final piece:

What the fuck was Nico thinking through all this?

As with your contraption, we’ve developed a decently complicated situation that would be a lot more hassle than just cutting Ace’s neck with the wire manually. What gives?

Well, the first thought is that the wire is still pretty sharp. If Nico has to exert enough force on the wire to cut the flesh of Ace’s throat, if they pulled it with their hands, it would probably cut the flesh of their hands too. Their gloves don’t look too thick, and are probably only made of cloth, so I doubt that would have been enough to protect them.

There’s also the question of how sharp the wire is, which also changes exactly how much force needs to be exerted to thoroughly cut Ace’s neck. It’s possible Nico was worried about exerting enough force on their own, but with this setup, both gravity and the pulley system make it easier. After all, we see Nico only do surface level cuts on Ace’s neck with the contraption; that raises the question of how ineffective the wire might be without gravity and the pulley system.

Personally, I think that those two explanations together are enough to justify why Nico wouldn’t have done it by hand, and despite how hard it is to explain, when you look at the final contraption, it’s… not actually that bad? It’s mostly just a pulley to pull Ace onto the wire. I honestly believe that the setup and execution of this murder could take, like, 30 minutes or less plus cleanup. Most of the time would just be taking the fan down and putting it back up and manually moving the entire weight rack; the murder itself probably only took a couple of minutes. I think it’s plausible that Nico could opt for this if normal wire cutting wasn’t viable.

Except, as we all know, Ace didn’t die. Let’s talk about it.

Basically, we have 3 primary theories as to why Ace wasn’t dead, and why Nico didn’t seem to be doing anything about it. We’ll go over each one here.

OPTION 1: Nico wanted Ace to suffer.

As previously mentioned, it seems like, if nothing happened to help Ace, he would’ve died by bleeding out at some point. He was still unconscious when Teruko and Eden showed up; if Nico finished cleaning up and bound Ace up with more grippy tape or something, he’d probably be dead and bled out by morning.

If Nico did want Ace to suffer for all the bullying he did, this is an option. It’d make Ace sit there after regaining consciousness, just feeling the blood drain from his throat, powerless to do anything to stop it. It’s cruel, but honestly not a bad plan if that’s what you’re going for.

With this, Nico was planning for Ace to die, in keeping with their response to Charles’ question. The greatest problem with this, of course, is the response to Veronika’s question. They say that they never thought about the Trial.

In this plan, it’s a little weird. I think that the best explanation to counter this is just that Nico truly wanted Ace dead and wanted him to suffer. The killing game was honestly not the biggest thing on their mind. Sure, getting to leave is cool or whatever, but the primary focus here is making Ace pay. They’re aware enough of the trial to clean up the crime scene, but not enough to preplan any arguments. Not perfect, but something.

OPTION 2: This was a warning.

Maybe Nico didn’t intend for Ace to die. The wounds were pretty shallow. Maybe they’d even bandage his neck themself, if they wanted, once everything was said and done.

It’s plausible enough that Nico would believe they could get away with this. That is to say, if Ace shows up to breakfast the next day yelling about how Nico tried to kill him, they could play dumb. Hu would probably defend them, and it becomes Nico’s word against Ace’s. We’ve already basically seen how that turns out. I honestly do believe that Nico could have gotten away with near-murder on Ace without being discovered; without the Trial’s incentive for thoroughness, their actual involvement could more easily be swept under the rug.

Ace and Nico would be the only ones who knew the truth. The fact that Nico could have killed Ace, though, would probably be enough to scare Ace off from bullying Nico for a while. Homeboy almost got crucified. Intimidating Ace might have been Nico’s goal all along.

But this one raises a problem with Charles’ question. Nico says that they did try to make a serious attempt on Ace’s life. However, simply, I think it’s possible Nico was lying here. Or, more so than lying, making a tactical decision.

Nico is hesitating here. While that could be good old fashioned reluctance to admit to murder, they could be realizing that they’re in a bad situation instead. This happens at the trial while Ace is accusing Nico of murdering Arei, and people aren’t believing them very much. It’s possible that they decided that answering, “no, I only wanted to show Ace that I’m fully capable of killing him and to scare him a little, that’s why I set up a crazy murder contraption” would only make them more suspicious.

Plus, it’s possible that a clean “yes” makes the rest of the group move on faster. If the group decided to press further, Nico could get in trouble if asked about the specifics of their murder method, considering how probably-similar it is to how probably-Eden killed Arei. They got close enough to threatening Ace’s life, and they’re certainly not opposed to the possibility, so answering “yes” could have just been the easiest option.

OPTION 3: Nico thought it would kill Ace.

This is honestly our leading theory, considering it feels like it accounts for everything.

You’re Nico again (still oof). You’re spinning this fan, and Ace’s neck is getting sliced, but it’s kinda hard to move this fan with the broom, and you’re pretty sure you messed up the fan too much to get it to spin by turning it back on. Even if everyone else is asleep, Ace is going to wake up sooner or later, and the fact of the matter is that it’s not working. There’s not enough time left for this method to be lethal.

So, abort mission. Take Ace down, take everything down. Ace goes in the corner for now. Take the fan down– oops.

If Nico’s hands were shaking or they were otherwise frazzled by their plan not working, it makes it way more plausible that they do mess up and drop the fan, causing the bang and clattering sound. It’s a simple slip up, but it’s what ended up costing them.

The question might be, why didn’t Nico just kill Ace with the wire after taking him down? Well, we already answered that question. They might not have enough force by just pulling, and it’d probably cut their hands, leaving behind undeniable proof for the class trial.

Oh god, the class trial. If Nico’s murder plan didn’t even work, how the hell are they supposed to survive the class trial? They didn’t plan for this!

And that ties into their response to Veronika under this theory. It’s not that they didn’t expect there to be a trial. It’s that everything about this just went so horribly wrong, and by the time they’re being pressured in Arei’s trial about it, they’ve realized that, had they succeeded, they would’ve been totally screwed. Nico’s a pretty anxious person. If they’re spiraling while answering her, I could believe that they’d say what they did and mean it.

And, obviously, they answer yes to Charles because, in this situation, they did make a serious attempt on Ace’s life, it just didn’t quite work.

Why does this all matter?

Other than curiosity’s sake, it doesn’t matter too much how this murder method was carried out, right? It seems like the characters are content to just know “Nico tried to murder Ace, but it didn’t work” and not question the why or the how too hard.

Well, if you look at what we ended up with for the murder contraption, it looks very similar to what killed Arei. There’s a long rope object–a custom weapon, at that– attached to the victim’s throat at one end, going around a fixture in the chosen murder location to be used as a pulley for extra force. Gravity is then used to deal the lethal damage to the victim's throat, all while they’re bound up by grippy tape. This is an insanely similar plan.

This matters because the person who killed Arei must have seen the scene of the crime.

Charles very distinctly says that Ace didn’t talk about the attempted murder, and that Nico didn’t either. We don’t see Teruko do so. That leaves Eden, but it seems against her character to go and explain the murder scene to someone else if she truly holds no ill intent.

Let’s assume the Arei culprit has to be one of our four people who saw the crime scene, then: Teruko, Eden, Nico, or Ace.

We see Teruko’s life. She didn’t do it. Next.

Nico seems pretty innocent in the Arei case. I do truly believe that, while they were trying to kill Ace, they didn’t want to kill Arei. In any interpretation, killing/hurting Ace is personal for Nico. It’s about getting back at Ace specifically. I don’t think they’d have any real motive to kill Arei, and other than similarity to their original plan, it seems like a weird method.

And honestly, I don’t think Nico would or could do a murder plan that killed the fish like that.

That leaves us with Eden and Ace. Now, we’ve already made it pretty clear with asides throughout this theory that we’re pretty sure it’s Eden, but let’s look into why.

I think that, assuming Nico isn’t the Arei culprit, the most logical explanation for why you’d want to set up the murder similarly is “to frame Nico.” Eden has obvious incentive for this; as we’ve seen it go, Ace is 100% convinced that Nico must be the culprit. I’m sure that the mechanism didn’t hurt that assumption. Fun fact, this is actually why I suspected Eden to some extent even before noticing the disappearing grippy tape (more in a sec).

If Ace was trying to frame Nico, I don’t understand why he wouldn’t talk about the method of Nico’s attempted murder. At the very least, I feel like he would’ve mentioned it at Arei’s trial by now, but he hasn’t. Ace’s behavior doesn’t line up with trying to frame Nico.

There’s also the fact that the tape is in the room at the time Ace wakes up. That means that Ace, Teruko, or Eden must’ve taken it, as MonoTV closes the gym right after the three of them leave, and we see it open the gym for Teruko and Rose, at which point the tape is gone.

Ace is the focus at the time the tape disappears, so it would be hard for him to get it unnoticed. Additionally, he just woke up after getting murdered. While it does seem like Ace’s mind immediately goes “time to commit a murder,” he’s pretty clearly just going straight to Nico’s door to… I don’t know, beat them up and strangle them or something? He pretty clearly hasn’t thought it through. And, if he hasn’t thought it through, I have no idea why he’d grab the grippy tape before leaving the gym on the night of the murder, which is the only time he could have taken it.

Meanwhile, there’s Eden, who absolutely took the grippy tape. If you watch the whole scene really carefully (as I’m sure you have), you can actually see the exact time in which Eden must’ve taken it. It’s not before she says the line about being ready to investigate (20:34). It’s actually when Ace knocks Eden over.

This sends Eden to the ground, presumably sending her further away from Ace himself. Teruko is very focused on Ace at this moment, as shown by the fact that we only see him for a bit here. We don’t see Eden again until she stands back up. She must’ve crawled over to the tape and picked it up before standing back up, as we see animated with her sprite.

If you look here, you’ll see the tape faintly in the background.

This line happens after Eden says to let her help investigate. That means that, at that point, Eden still hasn’t taken the tape. For good reason, too–she thinks Ace is dead. They’re about to go into a trial. She doesn’t want to steal murder evidence right before a trial, that’s super suspicious!

Here, though, you see Teruko talk immediately after Ace is alive. If you look in the same place, the tape is gone.

That’s because Eden is on the ground by now. Notably, that does mean that there aren’t backgrounds that have both the tape there and Ace’s body against the wall, but that’s probably because Eden took the tape basically as soon as she hit the ground, learning Ace was alive. This class trial’s called off; Eden’s planning for her very own.

There’s also the fun note that, y’know… Arei is dead. The new contraption worked. If we’re right that Nico’s mechanism failed to actually kill Ace properly even though it was meant to, then it’s interesting that Arei’s, which in my opinion might actually be more complicated, works.

This is another point against Eden. Using the spinning mechanism of the spinny thing and the rope to hang Arei… it’s quite literally like clockwork. Nico didn’t have the skills needed to make a crazy contraption like this work, but Eden does.

So, that’s the theory! It’s a bit complicated and there’s definitely still some flaws in it (especially with how goddamn long the fan wire would need to be), but I think it’s definitely got something to it! We had a lot of fun putting this together, so hopefully it was fun to read despite being… oh god, when did it become 9k words???

TL;DR, use grippy tape to solve all your problems.

Trying to figure out the Ace "murder" method

Hey, it's me again!

Seeing the great reception to my Arei murder theory (which, in case you missed, has an important second version (adult warning for Arei's BDA) and a less important third post, and beyond), I decided to try and figure out a method for the Ace murder attempt from episode 6. That and I have a sorta friendly theory rivalry going on with thebadjoe-

Seems like a fun challenge. Let's get into it!

Truth Bullets

Before the murder:

After:

1- Ace's body and wounds: Ace's body is sitting against a wall, slumped over. His neck has what seem to be three slice-type wounds across the front. These are the only visible wounds we know of. His face is angry, but this being Ace, it'd be weirder if it wasn't.

2- Bloodstain on the wall: There is a faint bloodstain just behind Ace's neck. Notably, this is the only trace of blood outside of Ace and the wires.

3- Lone wire: Because I clearly didn't have enough thinking about ropes and pulleys in the other murder, this one involves a wire! That's practically just a sharp rope! Notably, there is blood around a huge chunk of the middle of the cable, and a bit on one of the sides.

4- Wire taped to the fan: There is another piece of wire, wrapped around and taped to the broken ceiling fan. There is blood on the end of the wire not connected to the fan. The roll of tape used is right there. Fun fact, the tape actually dissappears from the background in the middle of the investigation, as pointed out by thebadjoe. Eden took it. This has more to do with the other murder than this one, but it's something to consider.

5- Broken fan: The fan on the right (door view) is broken, and on the ground.

6- Moved benches: Two benches have been moved from their original position. The one on the left is just moved to the side, while the one on the right is toppled over next to Ace. Notably, it's under the broken fan, meaning it must have toppled over before the fan got there.

7- Stool: There is a stool.

I have genuinely no idea where the hell this thing came from. It wasn't in any of the second floor rooms, or any of the first floor rooms we've seen. Was it in storage?

??????????????????

Hey, how fucking far did they drag this thing?! I have to imagine it was somewhere else, as there are actually a few doors which have never been opened, such as in the laundry room.

Whatever, no one cares. There's a stool, let's live with that.

8- Broom: There is a broom. I really hope they didn't get this from storage as well.

9- Toppled over weight rack: The weight rack has been moved closer to the... lifting bench thing, and now lay sprawled across the floor. Yeah, I got no idea about gym terminology.

10- Isolated weights: There are two small weights off to the side. Yep, they sure do exist.

11- Non-functioning fan: The fan on the left isn't moving (I know you can't tell from the picture, but trust me on this). This is especially strange, as we see the same fan moving the next day when Teruko and Rose go to the gym, despite the other fan still being gone.

12- Clean pull-up bar: The tape which was around the pull-up bar since the first day the second floor opened has disappeared.

13?- ???: So, uh, I got no idea what's going on in this general area. Apart from the bench press bar apparently disappearing, there seems to be a whole ass chunk of a mirror missing, which makes absolutely zero sense. It almost looks like someone took a bite off the damn thing, but I don't think anyone here eats glass, not even MonoTV. I imagine this is an animation error, but I'll point it out anyways in case it's somehow important.

14- Rose's account: During her painting session with Nico, her turpentine went missing.

15- Teruko's account: "[Ace] stayed unconcious for much longer than can be explained by blood loss or asphyxiation." Teruko believes this means Ace was likely knocked out with Rose's turpentine. Now, why she believes this when turpentine inhalation cannot cause unconciousness, only vomiting and nausea at worst, is beyond me. But since no one ever corrects her, I believe turpentine just... works differently in the DRDT universe.

16- Banging noise: Shortly before Eden and Teruko entered the crime scene, they heard a strange banging noise which came from the gym, followed by a clattering sound. This noise is... definitely strange, and in fact, I struggle to say what exactly it was. Since it doesn't match anything perfectly, I guess it must either be the weight rack toppling, or the fan falling. Also, this noise must have been caused by Nico, as no one else ran out of the gym afterwards.

17- Nico's missing cloak: Nico's usual cloak (that's what it's called, right?) is nowhere to be seen. Where the hell it went is a fantastic question, but the fact they don't have it in the first place could mean a lot of different things. Also to note, Nico doesn't have any blood on them.

I believe that about covers it. Let's see what we can manage. Also, I apologize in advance if it seems like this isn't very structured, I'm doing the best to explain my reasoning step by step.

What was Nico doing?

This may seem like an odd question to start with, but it's actually one which gives way to one of the most fundamental truths of the crime. One which I need to establish before getting anywhere in terms of theorizing. No, I'm not about to claim Nico didn't try to murder Ace, It's something else.

The answer seems obvious at first: they were clearly killing Ace, right? Well, not so fast. Nico was standing quite far from the body, yet holding a wire covered in blood. It almost looks like they just stumbled into an already established crime scene and were just investigating. Some claim this means Nico wasn't the one who set up most of the crime, but we have to remember this line:

Charles: But did you not intentionally try to make a serious attempt on Ace's life? Answer honestly.

Nico: Y... Yes...

Nico admits to, at some point, having tried to kill Ace. Of course, this isn't conclusive, but there is actually something else which makes me believe Nico might be the sole culprit of this almost-murder. A piece of evidence I haven't seen anyone mention in detail before.

The isolated weights.

What's the issue with this weights? Well, there are three truths which make them particularly strange.

1- The fact they're isolated means they were likely involved in the murder method.

2- They are decently far from any other piece of evidence.

3- They are neatly stacked on top of each other.

The fact they're neatly stacked means someone put them like that intentionally, yet they were clearly involved in the murder method. However, if they were involved in the method, how are they this far from everything else?

Well, let me answer those questions by raising others in return. Why is Ace so far from the wires, and why was Nico holding one of them? Why are the weights the only thing in the room which seem to be placed intentionally, when everything else is all over the place? When did Nico lose their cloak? What did they do to make that banging noise?

All these questions lead me to one answer. Nico wasn't actively trying to murder Ace when Eden and Teruko entered the scene, they were cleaning the crime scene. This could include moving Ace's body around, screwing around with the wires in a way which broke the fan, and, the important part, instinctively stacking the weights on top of each other. Maybe because Nico was getting bothered by the general mess of the room, or something like that (I know I would try to put some order in the room if I was nervous), and the weights were the easiest things to move around.

Whatever the reason Nico had for moving the weights, the point is, they did. This movement clearly didn't have anything to do with the actual method, as again, the weights were pretty far from everything, so it seems to me like they were just sorta "cleaning". And the reason everything else is in disarray is because they weren't done when Teruko and Eden got there.

Of course, you may be unconvinced. You may have questions like "why didn't Nico check Ace was dead dead?". But I promise, this will all make more sense as I explain further, so for now, let's assume Nico was cleaning the crime scene.

What does that mean? It means the position of most of the objects in the room could have changed between the time the attack was carried out, and the moment Teruko and Eden entered the gym.

With this possibility in mind, let's take a deeper dive into some of the evidence.

Two Wires on a Bird

(Wait, that's not how the song-)

Now, as you may remember, there were two pieces of wire in the gym; one by itself, and one taped to the fan. A lot of people assume these two were pieces of the same wire, which was broken when the fan went down, probably.

However, I do not believe this is the case. Remember, these wires are metal. From what I could find, their black color could imply they may be aluminum or iron, for example. These have, scientifically speaking, a fuckton of tensile strength. You would need a force of no less than an elephant stampede to break that with tension alone. They can be broken, quite easily with enough effort and tools, but not easily snapped.

No, I believe the answer is much simpler. There were always two wires; there was never an unintentional breakage. If these two things were ever one solid piece of wire, the would-be-murderer must have separated them before they set up their scheme, with whatever they could find. Maybe there could be tools in storage? Not too important.

But, beyond stealing the turpentine, is there really any evidence the killer really thought the method through with that much anticipation? After all, there is this line:

Veronika: Is this what you were envisioning when you tried to kill Ace? That the trial would happen like this, but with Ace instead of Arei dead?

Nico: I didn't... I never thought about it... I...

If Nico is the sole culprit as I'm claiming, doesn't that line mean there wasn't much forethought on Nico's part?

Don't worry, I'll explain that line later. For now, let me show you that the almost-killer absolutely planned the method in advance.

Broken Fans, Broken Hearts

One of the evidence pieces which confused me the most at first was, without a doubt, the non-functioning fan on the left. Why the hell isn't it moving? It's not the other fan falling, as we see the fan on the left working independantly the next day. Clearly, something happened which broke this fan, and it may have broken the other one as well.

Now, I looked through Google to see how ceiling fans work, see if I can figure something funky out. As a quick and oversimplified explanation, they run a current to create magnetic force which moves a rotor which moves the blades. From this, I thought of maybe using magnets to screw them up, but there aren't any magnets we know of in DRDT. I looked into Nico's laser pointer, but that also went nowhere. Despite the lack of evidence of its use, J's remote was the only thing I could think of for a while.

That is, until I realized one fundamental truth:

I'm an idiot.

The answer is much, much simpler. And it comes from one important question. Why is the tape on the fan facing the ceiling?

Most people, myself included, see a stool, tape, and tape on a fan, and assume the killer used the stool to reach the fan and put the tape there. But the problem is, that would only allow you to place the wire on the underside of the blades. And I'm pretty sure the fan wouldn't do a cartwheel in midair to land upside down.

No, what the tape's position implies is that the killer had access to the upper side of the fan's blades. This means they were likely able to bring the fans down before the murder, and put them back later. However, it's very likely they wouldn't be completely able to fix them, explaining why the left one isn't moving.

I'm not sure how they'd do that, and it sorta relies again on tools from storage, but it doesn't quite matter. There's no point in taping a wire to a fan unless you want it on the fan, aka close to the ceiling, so the killer must have put them back. They likely did this way before the murder, though that raises the question of why the tape would still be there in that case. I do have an explanation, but it'll have to wait for now.

The fact the killer had this ability to take down and somewhat fix the fans makes the left fan's state trivial. They would just take it down to break it, like they did the fan on the right. Of course, the question is why.

I have two answers. The boring one is that the almost-killer thought having one fan moving while the other was broken would be suspicious, and would make Ace more cautious than just seeing both fans broken.

The more fun answer, but one I don't think makes much sense, is that breaking the fans could make the turpentine more effective. Keep in mind Teruko says it is inhaling the fumes from turpentine which can cause unconciousness, and the fans, moving the air around and stuff, would make it harder for the fumes to really be effective... somehow? Again, impossible to know from real life turpentine, as it doesn't work the same as in DRDT. There are a decent bit of inconsistencies with this answer, but eh. As long as Nico could conceivably believe it would help, they may do it. The killers don't have to always know exactly what they're doing.

Alright, Murder Time!

Now that you know how my brain interprets most of the evidence in the crime scene, it's time to get to the actual method. Just so you can get a taste of the insanity required to come up with something which is at least even slightly believeable, here's a highlight reel of the silliest ideas I seriously considered at one point or another!

-Using the broom to beat the shit out of a fan like a piñata.

-Putting the fan on the treadmill and making it run. Don't ask me how this would work.

-Creating a yoyo with the wire and the isolated weights. I almost wanted this one to be true.

-Creating a weird garrote thing with the wires and the weights.

Alright, got it out of my system. Let's actually start now.

The first thing we have to look at is the blood on the wires.

This is, hands down, the part of the crime which drove me the most insane. We need to somehow figure out a way to have blood on quite a bit of the end of the fan-wire, a huge chunk in the middle of the lone wire, and a bit on its right side as well. All of this, while only leaving injuries on the front of Ace's neck, and not the back.

The simplest way to do this would be to "drag" the bloody parts of the wire across Ace's neck, but the question is how to "dodge" the parts which aren't bloody. If you try to think about this for yourself, you're gonna notice this is a lot harder than it seems. The bloody part on the middle of the lone wire is long, but the one on the right is small. Additionally, you have to somehow figure out a way to bloody up the end of the fan-wire, which comes with the problem of "where the hell even is Ace to have his neck cut by this thing".

The first thing I figured out is that the end of the fan-wire was likely attached to the middle of the lone wire, the latter doubled over the point of contact.

(My art is back with a vengeance)

The lone wire could have even been tied around itself to triple over itself, if the length was still too long for the killer's taste. This would also help to explain the multiple injuries on his neck.

However, the problem with this is that goddamn little bit of blood on the right of the lone wire. It can't be solved by just dragging Ace a bit further, as there's a part of the wire which isn't bloody. This took me a while to figure out. In fact, at one point I was close to calling it quits, and just leaving that bit of blood unexplained.

But then, it came to me. A noose!

If the killer made a noose with the wire (let's assume that's possible), and Ace was dragged along the base of the noose, but not the noose itself, then the point of connection would leave a bloody part of the wire which would appear separated from the rest once you extended it out.

(The main takeaway from this "drawing" is the noose, don't worry if you don't exactly understand the triple over thing. After all, I'm not even sure it was actually used)

Of course, now we have to ask ourselves why in the hell is the killer making a noose, then having Ace's neck drag across the base of the noose. The first thing which comes to mind is putting the noose around something, something like the pull up bar. That's sorta the only object near the fan I could see this working with. And we know the other end of the wire must have been on the fan.

This all points me to a theory I was already cooking up beforehand. The killer may have used gravity as a weapon, letting Ace's body lean on the wire as it tenses and untenses to slowly slash at his neck. This is sorta the system I'm envisioning.

Obviously the drawings aren't to scale.

Now, if we miraculously (and it really would be a miracle) get this to work, it could explain those damn bloodstains that stumped me for hours. It could also explain the meaning of those isolated plates: if you manage to secure them to Ace's chest, they would weigh him down in such a way that his neck would press harder on the wire, causing more damage. I'll get to the way I believe it's possible the killer secured them later, but for now, this is the gist of my idea.

Now, there are a significant amount of questions and concerns you may raise just by seeing this, so let me address those.

The first concern you may have is the length of the wire system. Keeping in mind the fan-wire is atteched to the end of the blade, it would practically be impossible for this system to work if the fan spins all the way.

For the fan to actually spin automatically and not break anything, the "fan-out" position must exist only when the blade with the wire is as far away from the pull-up bar as possible. With how large the fan is, the end of the wire would be somewhat over the treadmills, maybe a bit closer to the door. The problem is, as the fan spins and the wire "tries to slack" (remember, Ace's neck pressing against it would mean it never fully slacks), it would end up practically touching the floor by the time the blade gets closer to the pull-up bar. Not to mention the issue of Ace's weight possibly fucking with the fan's automatic spin. In other words, it's impossible to create this system if the fan is spinning on its own.

...The sharper of you will have already realized why that argument doesn't work. It's not a problem, because the fan isn't spinning on its own. We established it earlier, remember? The fan was likely broken before the murder attempt even formerly began. That means the fan is spinning manually.

Perhaps that piñata idea wasn't so far off after all, we just needed a gentler touch. Using the broom and probably the stool, the almost-killer would be able to make the fan move on their whim. And this means there's no reason for them to make the fan do full revolutions. If they just move the blades back and forth a little bit, they would be able to "straighten" and "slack" the wire system however they wanted, and wouldn't need the system to extend all the way to the other side of the room. In fact, they would actually want the system to be as short as possible while still reaching from the fan to the pull-up bar, since that simplifies the positioning of Ace's body, as you'll see later.

But before we get to that, I have to answer something else. This method, you may have noticed, wouldn't exactly leave the deepest wounds, would it? I mean, it could definitively cause bleeding, but the wounds would likely be quite shallow, unless the wire is ultra sharp. It seems like a pretty bad murder system if it only leaves mostly superficial wounds.

Except, who told you the wounds weren't superficial? Remember, Ace didn't actually die from this. And although I'm no expert in anatomy, I believe any neck wound would be fatal if it's deep enough. Thus, whatever the method used was, it could only leave shallow wounds.

That still raises the question of why the killer would do this, but I'll get there. For now, let me give you a sneak peek: I believe the attacker knew Ace didn't die from the wire attack. Intriguing, right?

And if you're worried about the amount of blood being too much for shallow wounds, don't worry. As I said, I believe Teruko and Eden ran into the crime scene a while after the crime actually happened, so Ace must have been bleeding for a while. And I'm no forensic expert, but I believe people who are alive bleed faster than corpses, since the heart is still beating and all that. Essentially, there's a lot of blood only because Ace has been bleeding for a while.

Now comes the hardest part of the visualization, and frankly, the one thing which really makes me doubt whether or not this is possible. With the two benches found on the crime scene, you have to play jenga with them and Ace's body in a way which makes sure his head reaches the pull-up bar in the "fan-out" position, and which doesn't run into issues holding his body up in the "fan-in" position. Considering the height of the pull-up bar, I think the best way to do this would be placing the benches parallel to the wire, and Ace's body kneeling perpendicular to it. You might also want to put a space in between the benches for the knees to bend forward, but I'm not sure.

(Not to scale)

Again, I know this is hard to visualize, and probably harder to pull off, but I don't think it's completely impossible. If anyone has better ideas on how to put the benches, I'd love to hear it.

Now, the sharper of you would realize a problem. As Ace's body flops onto the wire, it's likely going to get pulled forward, but it would also likely slide down towards Ace's chest. That's a problem, since his wounds are only on his neck. However, I have a possible solution for this. You know how I said you could secure the isolated weight plates on Ace's chest to make him press harder onto the wire? Well, if you secure them high and well enough, with tape for example, they might be able to stop the wires from sliding down.

The unfortunate part of this is that we can't be sure if there was any blood on the weights, which there likely would be in this case, since Teruko didn't check them closely. But the bigger issue here is the tape itself: where'd it go?

Well, I'll answer that question with another question. How is there no blood on the floor? Under this method, gravity would make at least a fair bit of blood fall to the floor. There's no way Nico cleaned it up, so how?

Well, if you don't want a liquid to stain a floor, what can you do? You can drape something over the floor so that gets stained instead of the floor. And this is how I plan to explain Nico's missing cloak. Their cloak was draped over the floor in the place where the blood would fall, as to avoid staining the floor with blood. Nico later removed the cloak from the crime scene, possibly leaving it in the dress-up room or somewhere else for the time being.

Now, that sounds ridiculous. Why would Nico leave the crime scene so early? Is there any actual evidence they left at some point?

Well, actually, there is. It's the other place where blood should have been in this method. Since Ace's neck must reach the base of the noose, it would touch the pull-up bar and stain it with blood. Or rather, it would stain the tape on the pull-up bar with blood. The tape which is also missing.

Before.

After.

In fact, this missing piece of tape is extremely important evidence for my theory. The fact it's missing means the pull-up bar was involved, possibly being stained with blood. It also means the culprit took evidence out of the crime scene, which helps explain why Nico is missing their cloak. It also gives credence to the theory the killer taped the isolated weights to Ace's chest, since one missing piece of tape could imply two missing pieces of tape. And- hey! That's why the roll of duct tape is still there! They didn't need it for the fan, since that set up was likely done before the murder attempt as established earlier, so they must have used it somewhere else!

Oh yeah, it's all coming together.

And with this, as you've noticed, we've sorta already arrived at my conclusion on the culprit. Since I believe Nico's cloak was involved in the setup, but was later removed, I firmly assert Nico is the sole almost-murderer. After all, even if the killer knocked out Nico and put them in the crime scene or something, there would be no reason to discard their cloak, and if Nico took it out the gym after waking up, there's no reason to return until they tell someone else about the body.

At this point, I should also address the hidden quote I know is gonna be brought up. Like with every character, if you inspect element on Nico's page you get a hidden quote, which in their case is "why should I own up for the mistakes someone else made?". That makes it sound like they didn't do this, but keep in mind, Nico did confirm having attempted to kill Ace, so I don't think it makes sense for the mistake to be "tried to kill Ace". I actually think this line could be a lot darker. I think this line could imply Ace made the mistakes being referred to, and Nico feels as though they don't have to own up for that. Like, "Ace was the one who fucked around, I just made them find out". Though I am admittedly biased towards evil Nico interpretations, so I can't be sure. Also, this could be about something from another chapter entirely.

Now that we sort of have an idea of how the attack could have gone down, we have to start thinking of the clean up. Unfortunately, this part of the plan wouldn't leave many clues behind, so it's largely speculative. Also worth keeping in mind, I believe this started a while before Teruko and Eden even arrived at the second floor.

The first order of business is taking Ace's body out of the mechanism. They would need to gently let it lean on the wire until the fan wouldn't turn anymore, before quickly stepping off the stool and going over. I'll explain why they're so worried about the body later, but for now, trust me bro. They would push the body off the wire, moving the benches to maneuver better, but their movements are sort of sloppy. This results in the rightmost bench falling over, and when they push Ace up against the wall, they do so haphazardly, leaving behind a small blood stain behind his neck. This is unfortunately the only explanation I have for the bloodstain on the wall which still fits all the other evidence. I say unfortunately because it's a sorta odd explanation for something I would usually consider quite important, but I've had enough trying to explain the blood on the wires, I'm not gonna worry too much about this little thing.

After making sure the body is off the wire, Nico would want to take care of the most incriminating evidence first: their bloodstained cloak. They would probably roll it up into a ball to carry it, though I imagine they may wipe some of the blood off the wires as well. After all, it's the one piece of evidence which can be directly be linked back to them. Since they just took the body down, they would also pick up the evidence closest to them; the bloodstained tape on the pull-up bar and the tape and weights on Ace's chest. They decide to leave the weights in the gym for the time being, and carry out the cloak and the pieces of tape, likely leaving them somewhere else on the second floor. I think one of the changing rooms in the dress-up room is the likeliest spot, or the trash can. They were later planning on disposing of it in a better way, I imagine, but I don't think they wanted to leave the body alone too long, since as I said, they may have known Ace was alive.

Timeline-wise, it's hard to say how much time passes between Nico going out and into the gym, and the moment Teruko and Eden meet in the dress-up room. Especially because part of my other theory is that Eden was actually doing some stuff on the second floor at this time. So here's how I see it; when they return to the gym, they put the weights they had just sort of left there one on top of the other, probably move the stool a little, but most importantly, they start trying to figure out a way to take down the wire system. They initially try things like untying the noose or undoing the knot in the middle, but they're worried about blood getting on them or getting cut by the wire. This hesitation on how to take the wire system down is what explains the time difference between the start of their cleaning and the moment Eden and Teruko get there. I am deeply aware this isn't a very satisfying answer to that issue, but I don't think it's too outlandish, especially since Nico is clearly not in the greatest mental state.

Eventually, they decide they're not going to take the wire system down carefully. To avoid getting blood on themselves, the best way would be to rip out the entire system all at once. I imagine they looped the wire around the broom, and pulled hard in one direction. Do it well enough, and I believe both the noose and the knot between the wires would come undone. However, in doing this, Nico also accidentally knocked down the ceiling fan. This causes the banging noise Eden and Teruko hear.

However, Nico doesn't think anyone else is nearby, and thus doesn't worry about the noise. They just pick up the lone wire (by the parts which aren't bloody), which had flown towards them thanks to their broom trick, and stretch it out... because they felt like it. Yeah, I'm not really sure. But I know a lot of people do weird things to calm themselves when nervous, and Nico is not thinking straight. Fixing up the wire could be something they felt compelled to do without logical reason. I hope this makes sense to you as much as it makes sense to me. Regardless, this is what Teruko and Eden catch them doing. Nico runs away, and probably picks up their cloak on the way as to at least have the slightest argument for their innocence. Since the lone pieces of tape are there, Nico probably picks them up too.

That's basically it for what happened, though you may have noticed there is one piece of evidence I never mentioned. That being the toppled over weight rack. However, there's a pretty simple explanation for this, one I have to give credit to thebadjoe for. Essentially, it's possible the weight rack was moved by Ace to train. If he was bench pressing, it would make sense for him to bring the weight rack closer to the... bench press bench? You know what I mean. And then, when the killer attacked them with turpentine, the rack was toppled over in the struggle. There's unfortunately no way to confirm this, as in the ep 11 flashback, Ace is in the gym but the weight rack is not next to the bench press bench. This doesn't disprove anything; Ace could have just been doing literally anything else. But it unfortunately doesn't confirm anything either.

So, there we go! A series of events which more or less explains all the major evidence in the scene and is (hopefully) physically possible! The bloodstains on the wires were a major pain, to the point I will gladly take anything that explains them more or less satisfactorily, and the missing tape on the pull up bar convinces me I'm (hopefully) in the right track.

... Yeah, so there's still a problem.

Hey, OP, what the fuck?

So, once again my "method before motive" way of theorizing arrives at an extremely complicated system which seems to have no purpose at all. If the fan really is broken as I claim, then there's no way for this to be a remote murder, and a lot of this is just unnecessary. Like, why not just cut Ace's neck with the wires using your hands, the way God (MonoTV) intended? And what the hell did I mean when I said Nico started cleaning the crime scene despite knowing Ace was alive?!

So, here comes the most speculative part of my theory. The reason for the method. Initially, one would assume a system like this would be used to get away with the murder without being caught, like most murders in... well, murder mystery stories. However, remember that line I brought up before? The one where Veronika asks about the trial, and Nico claims to have never thought about it?

I think they're telling the truth. I don't think the purpose of the system is to get away with the murder at all.

And it all comes back to the concern I raised about superficial wounds. Like I said, this system seems odd because it wouldn't be able to cause anything but some shallow cuts. But, what if that's the point?

What if Nico designed this method specifically so it wouldn't kill Ace?

That sounds insane, but think about it. If Nico tries to cut Ace's neck with the wires just by using their hands, it's possible they would get over-excited and accidentally cut too deep, killing Ace almost instantly. If that's not what they want, then it would make more sense to set up a somewhat automatic system which runs less risk of cutting too deep. Maybe.

But, didn't Nico confirm they made a serious attempt on Ace's life, like they told Charles? Yes, but they weren't done.

I believe it's possible Nico wanted Ace to wake up after receiving his neck injuries. That way, he'd be weakened by the blood loss and the pain, but still concious when Nico actually killed them. Under this interpretation, Nico wanted Ace to die knowing Nico was stronger than him, not just by using turpentine and cheap tricks, but just in a straight up fight (though with the handicap of the injuries).

Is that too sadistic? Arguably yes, but we still don't know how far Nico's anger is capable of taking them. I'm probably biased since I am a Veronika kinnie at heart, whose love for a character only increases the more evil and fucked up they are. Still, trust me when I say I went insane trying to figure out any method which could explain the fucking bloodstains on those wires as well as everything else, and this one is the best one I've found so far. It's all I have, I gotta work the characters around it somehow, and this is the only way I can think of.

Nico waiting for Ace to wake up also answers a lot of the basic questions of what the hell was going on when Teruko and Eden entered. If Nico really made a serious attempt on Ace's life, why are they standing so far without confirming Ace is dead? Because they know he's not, and are waiting for him to wake up.

The biggest issues I see here (besides the sheer insanity of the idea) are:

-This method still really isn't that reliable at not killing. However, it doesn't have to be; Nico just needs to trust it more than they do their own hands. And the trust Nico has on their own hands could actually be very little knowing how insecure they is about a lot of things. Not a great argument, but it's there.

-If Nico didn't think of the trial at all, there's no reason for them to take the cloak and tape out of the gym. This is admittedly a much more pressing issue, since a lot of my theory hinges on them doing this. My best answer is that they were working mostly on autopilot. Not actively thinking of the trial, but still knowing in the back of their mind that they would have to hide they did this. It's not great, but it's an answer.

-We don't have evidence Nico even had another weapon on them. If Nico wanted to kill Ace after he woke up, they would have likely brought a weapon with them. However, counterpoint; we know they must have had at least one possible weapon, the turpentine bottle. It's a pretty shitty weapon, but break it open and it would be effective enough. Additionally, the fact we don't know where that thing is implies Nico could have been hiding another weapon, but I'm hesitant to claim this, because again, no evidence.

Overall, I think these holes aren't too big, and considering I'm expecting to get lots of things wrong here, I'm comfortable enough with my answer to put it out there for peer review.

Closing Argument

-During the afternoon, the culprit had to get two custom weapons for their plan. One, the turpentine, they stole from Rose during a painting session. The other, Hu's wire, they simply asked for with some vague excuse, as they had a good relation with her.

-Once they got the wire, they split it into two and went to the gym, a while before the victim arrived. They also brought a stepstool and a broom. With them, they took down the rightmost fan, and ductaped one of the wires' end to one of its blades. They managed to put the fan back up, with the wire hidden on top of the blades. However, the fan didn't spin anymore. The culprit also broke the other fan with a similar method, so as to not make the victim suspicious when they entered the gym.

-The culprit waited until the victim entered the gym for their regular nighttime exercise session, likely after feeding the fish in the relax room.

-The victim, Ace, wanted to do some bench pressing, so he brought the weight rack closer. They didn't notice anything amiss, until the culprit entered the gym.

-With a rag filled with turpentine (maybe; it's impossible to know how people in the DRDT universe would use turpentine as a sedative), the culprit ambushed Ace. Although there was a struggle which knocked over the weight rack, the culprit managed to get Ace to inhale enough turpentine to knock him out. Now, the culprit could have just killed Ace then and there, but that's not what they wanted. They wanted to prove themselves stronger than him, or simply to make them suffer for what he had done to them. In any case, they wanted him to be seriously injured, but not dead by the time the turpentine wore off. Since they couldn't trust their own impulses, they wanted to use a more hands-off method which would ensure Ace would be in serious pain, but not die until the culprit could make sure he felt it.

-Working quickly as nighttime approached, the killer used the broom and stepstool to spin the rightmost fan's blades so as to get the wire taped to it to fall down.

-They tied a noose around the pull-up bar with the other part of the wire. They possibly made the wire triple over itself, and attached the fan-wire to its middle. They also put the non-noose end under the noose on the pull-up bar, for extra stability. For Ace's body, they used the roll of tape to attach two small weights from the rack to Ace's chest.

-With the wire system now hanging slack, like a vine, between the fan and the pull-up bar, they moved the benches under it. The killer also wore a cloak, which they took off and draped over the floor around where they believed the blood would end up.

-They dragged Ace's body to the benches. They propped him up there on his knees, letting his neck press down onto the wire system, specifically a part of the fan-wire. Once they made sure he wasn't going to fall, they quickly made their way to the stepstool, grabbed the broom, and got on it.

-With the broom, they moved the fan's blades manually, not too fast, but with some strength. The wire system pressed hard on Ace's neck, starting to cut his neck as it straightened. Ace's head tilted as this happened, and he started to lean towards the pull-up bar. As his neck dragged over the rolled up lone wire, various shallow cuts opened in his skin. Ace's head touched the pull-up bar's tape, staining it and the base of the noose with blood.

-The killer then slowly allowed Ace's body weight to press on the wire as the fan slowly spun in that direction, the speed controlled by the broom. The wires didn't fall to his chest because of the weights, as well as the slow nature of the descent. His blood stained every spot of the wire his neck dragged across, including the end of the fan-wire.

-The culprit repeated this one or two times, enough to feel as though Ace was sufficiently hurt for their purposes, but not so much they felt he'd die before waking up.

-When they were done, they gently let Ace's body lean on the wire as far as the fan would allow, before dropping the broom and hopping off the stepstool.

-They quickly ran over to Ace, pushing him off the wire system before it could do any more damage to him. In doing this, the bench he was kneeling on fell over, and Ace's body slammed on the wall next to the pull-up bar. The culprit managed to keep him in a sitting position, but the impact with the wall had left a small bloodstain behind Ace.

-The culprit moved the benches a bit to maneuver better around the gym. They took the bloodstained tape off the pull-up bar, retrieved the weights and tape from Ace's chest, and got their cloak off the floor. They used the cloak to wipe a bit of the blood off the wire system, though since it was already covered in blood, some still remained. Not enough to drip off and make a noticeable change on the floor, though. The killer left the weights off to a side in the gym, and ran off with the tape and cloak. They likely hid it somewhere nearby, like the trash can in the hallway or the changing rooms of the dress-up room.

-They came back to the gym at around the same time Eden went to the second floor (this is related to my other theory, don't worry too much about it). They began waiting for Ace to wake up, but their desire for cleanliness guided them in the tense situation. They started trying to figure out a way to take down the wire system without risking injury and without getting blood on themselves.

-A few minutes later, as Teruko went to the second floor and met with Eden, the killer figured out a way to take down the system. They grabbed the broom and wrapped a clean part of the fan-wire around it, before pulling with all their might.

-Several things happened at once. The noose and knot in the point of connection came undone instantly, and the lone wire flew towards the entrance. However, the strength of the pull also took down the fan from the ceiling, making a loud banging noise which could be heard from the hallway.

-The killer didn't think there'd be anyone on the second floor at the time, so they just continued their clean up effort as they waited for Ace to awaken. They grabbed the lone wire by the non-bloody parts and stretched it out, just as Teruko and Eden entered the gym.

-Upon seeing the two girls, the culprit panicked. They dropped the wire and ran away, but still had the sense to quickly pick up their cloak and tape just in case.

-The culprit's plan was to wait until Ace woke up, and in his weakened and pained state, kill him with the bottle of turpentine or some other weapon they had brought with them. And they would have gotten away with it too, if it weren't for those meddling girls!

-The missing cloak, paired with the suspicious lack of blood on the scene; the turpentine theft during a painting session with Rose; the motive to kill Ace in this manner; their actions and presence in the crime scene; all paired with an admission of guilt. The method shows only one person with the ability, opportunity and motive to attempt such a heinous murder: Nico Hakobyan, the Ultimate Pet Therapist!

Conclusion

Is this conclusion perfect? By no means. Nico's actions are still extremely erratic and hard to explain, not to mention how difficult it would be to physically get the method to work. However, it's an answer which I feel sufficiently explains all the evidence in the crime scene, which is shockingly difficult. Those damn bloodstains, man.

Still, I imagine I've gotten quite a few things wrong, so this is more a starting point than a final answer. I just think it's solid enough to put out there and get second opinions on it.

Thanks for reading all the way to end! I would give you a cookie, but I'm afraid it's impossible through a screen. Have a good day!

#drdt #danganronpa despair time #drdt theory #drdt spoilers #fanganronpa #nico hakobyan #ace markey #teruko tawaki #eden tobisa #long post #tw blood #theory #hello 1moreff-creator we're joining you in insanity land #we definitely lost braincells doing this but also i feel like we did get somewhere eventually?#when we proofread accirax read it out loud. she used her min voice for the quotes we had from you lol

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asweetprologue · 4 years ago

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@sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo

Prompt: Date Night Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier Rating: Gen Content Warnings: None Summary: Geralt ask Jaskier to go to the Yule festival with him. Jaskier misunderstands his intentions. ao3

“There’s a festival happening tonight.”

Jaskier looked up from where he was working on his latest composition. Geralt was leaning against the doorway to his bedchambers, which Jaskier tended to use as a study as well so that he could reserve the main space for entertaining. He took a moment to set down his quill and wipe his sweaty palm on his trousers. It was almost overly warm in the room, the fire blazing at full height to fight back against the chill of his outward facing chambers. The single, tiny window above his desk ran with moisture, the frost melted away by the heat of the room.

“Yes,” he answered, turning in his plush chair to face Geralt fully, one ankle coming up to cross over his knee. “There’ll be a procession at sunset starting at the main gate, to light the lanterns. And then dancing and such in the main square. Typical Yuletide celebrations.” As he spoke, Jaskier allowed himself to observe Geralt in full, briefly sweeping a glance over his companion. It was exceptionally rare for them to spend winters together; Geralt almost always chose to spend the colder months in Kaer Morhen with his brothers, while Jaskier returned to civilization. This year they had been deep in southern Sodden when the first snows unexpectedly hit, and by the time they’d made it back to Redania they’d received word from Vesemir that the pass to Kaer Morhen was closed. Jaskier had been offered a position teaching for the winter semester, along with a fairly lucrative retainer with a local lordling, so he’d offered Geralt a place to crash while they waited for the witchering season to start up again.

The downtime suited Jaskier’s companion nicely. Geralt’s hair was pulled back into a customary knot behind his head, but it was clean and soft looking, free of dirt and monster guts. His skin shone in the firelight, and the dark circles that always seemed smudged beneath his eyes were faded after weeks of consistent rest and food. He’d taken to walking around without his armor on, content after a few days with the knowledge that Oxenfurt was populated by nothing more threatening than overenthusiastic academics. At the moment he was wearing a pair of old black trousers and a dark blue shirt that stood out against his white skin like a splash of wine on a silk tablecloth. It had cost Jaskier a small fortune, but it was worthwhile to see it clinging to Geralt’s shoulders.

He looked good. Jaskier felt his cheeks heat up as he realised he’d been staring. Snapping back to the conversation at hand, he realized that Geralt had been speaking.

“- if you wanted to.”

“Sorry, what?” Jaskier asked, blinking. Geralt rolled his eyes, used to Jaskier’s lapses in attention. The motion carried annoyance, but when his eyes fell on Jaskier again there was fondness in them.

“I asked if you’d planned on attending. Seems like the kind of thing you’d be working.” Strong arms crossed over a broad chest, stretching the dark fabric across thick biceps. Jaskier swallowed.

“Ah, well, typically I would indeed be regaling the crowds with my sonorous melodies. But considering I had company, I thought it might be better to leave myself, uh.” He cut himself off, feeling suddenly exposed in the admission. While he had taken the time off initially hoping he might be doing something with Geralt, he hadn’t truly expected the witcher to want to do more than maybe get drunk on overpriced Redanian wine. “Well. You’re here, after all,” he finished lamely.

Geralt blinked at that, something odd crossing his face before he looked away. Staring at the fire across from Jaskier, he said, “You could still go.”

Something was off about his tone - overly flat, which he only did when he was trying to muffle some kind of emotion. What it could be, Jaskier had no earthly idea. Confused, he said, “Well, I wouldn’t want to leave you all by yourself on Yule, Geralt. That wouldn’t make me a very gracious host! I’m entirely content to spend the evening with you here, if that’s what you would prefer.” And he was, truly. While he typically spent Yuletide amongst the people, dancing and singing and visiting with friends, he imagined it would be just as rewarding to spend the evening with Geralt, in the cramped comfort of his quarters. The two of them tipsy on ale and spirits, sitting before the fire, trading stories back and forth like they usually did on the road. Cuddled beneath a blanket, pressed up against each other despite the warmth of the hearth, drink making Geralt’s face flush as it almost never did…

Yes, Jaskier imagined he would be perfectly content to spend the evening right here.

Geralt let out a frustrated huff. “I mean, we could go. If you want. I - We should go. Together.”

It was choppy work, even for Geralt. He still refused to meet Jaskier’s gaze, staring with absolute focus at the fire. His shoulders were braced, tense as if waiting for a blow. It was baffling.

“Well, of course, if you’d like to go I’m amenable to that,” Jaskier agreed. “More than, actually. It’s great fun, you’ll see.”

Geralt finally turned to look Jaskier in the eye. A shiver traveled down his spine at the intensity there, but then again, that was how he often felt under that golden gaze. “Together,” Geralt said again.

“I wouldn’t want to go with anyone else,” Jaskier said with a dismissive wave, laughing a little. It was typical to attend the festivities with a spouse or sweetheart, but he’d not taken a paramour of any kind in several months, and nothing serious in years, if he was honest. His attention was unfortunately captured elsewhere. He spared a single moment to mourn the private evening he’d envisioned with Geralt, but he was already warming to the idea of attending the festivities. He’d already shown the witcher around Oxenfurt, but it was exciting to think of showing the city off again in a new light. Geralt had probably not attended many Yule festivals, he realized, having always spent the winters in the mountains. Something released in his chest even as his stomach dropped in disappointment as he realized Geralt probably didn’t even recognize the romantic implications of his offer.

Geralt, at least, looked relieved. The tension dropped from his shoulders, and he gave Jaskier a soft smile. Jaskier’s traitorous heart skipped in his chest, and Geralt’s grin suggested that it may have been audible. Jaskier wasn’t sure what to do with himself, hands fluttering across his desk to meaninglessly straighten papers and notes. “Good,” Geralt said, the grin softening back into that disorienting smile. “I’m assuming you’ll want to change.”

“Ah, yes, can’t very well go out in this,” Jaskier agreed, still feeling slightly unmoored.

“Of course,” Geralt said seriously, but his eyes danced with mirth. “I’ve got some things to do in the market before the stalls close. Meet you at the gate at sunset?”

“Perfection,” Jaskier said, and Geralt nodded before peeling himself off of the doorframe and disappearing into the other room. A moment later Jaskier heard the telltale sound of the exterior door opening and closing, the rusty hinges creaking. He sat for a moment in the empty room, going over the encounter in his mind and trying to determine what had made it feel so off.

“Strange,” he said to himself, and began packing up his things. He had a festival to prepare for.

***

Dressed appropriately in his finest woolen tunic and the thick fur lined cloak Geralt had gifted him the previous year, Jaskier set out from his abode to meet Geralt. An hour or so had passed since their conversation, and the sun was lying low and languorous on the edge of the horizon. Its dying light rippled across the Pontar where it split around the island, the light layer of snow that covered the landscape transformed into gold dust. Already he could see the crowd gathering on the far side of the bridge, led by the priestess of Melitele, returning from the temple outside of the city. Jaskier stood inside the city gates, scanning the faces around him for familiar features.

After a few moments he saw him - highlighted against the backdrop of the setting sun, his hair turned to fiery gold in the dying light. Geralt smiled when they made eye contact, and immediately began to push his way through the crowd towards Jaskier. He too had dressed for the weather, his own wool cloak muffling his form. As he stepped into Jaskier’s space, he said, “You ready?”

Jaskier had the feeling that he didn’t know exactly what he should be ready for, but he nodded anyway. “They’re just beginning,” he said, waving towards the group approaching on the bridge. It was slow going, the procession stopping every few meters to wait while the priestess lit the lanterns lined up along the walls. They would be at it for the next hour at least, making their way around the circumference of the city to light the protective lanterns and then returning to the bridge, where the large crowd would release their own floating lanterns to carry their prayers for the new year to Melitele.

“There’s music in the square,” Geralt said, and Jaskier could just barely hear it as well. Normally he would be amongst the performers, but tonight he was there as the audience.

“The flutist is off key, I can tell already,” he said with a grin, though he could hear no such thing from this distance. Geralt huffed out a laugh and took Jaskier’s arm, just above the end of his glove. Geralt’s fingers were bare, his witcher metabolism keeping him warm enough without them, and they were a cold shock against the skin of Jaskier’s wrist. He let himself be led into the square, which was packed with people. Tables had been set up with food and drink around the edges, while the far side was dominated by a low stage. In the center, couples and groups danced, circling each other in common folk movements. The tune was jaunty and fun, a lively song to help fight back against the dark that threatened the edges of the gathering. Defiant in the best of ways.

“I don’t suppose you know any of the local dances?” Jaskier asked, already knowing the answer. Geralt confirmed it with a shake of his head. “Well then be a dear and get us some ales, hmm? We can still watch.”

Geralt, for once, did as he was bid without comment, probably just as interested in the alcohol as Jaskier was. He found them a spot to stand near the mouth of an alley, where he hoped the noise of the crowd would be a bit reduced. Geralt was sometimes bothered by the bustle and murmur of a large group of people.

Geralt rejoined him shortly, offering him a mug of mulled wine. Jaskier took a grateful sip, feeling the hot liquid settle in his gut and warm him from the inside out. It was very good - spicy and strong, just how he liked it. Geralt hummed appreciatively when he took his own drink.

They stood watching for a while, Jaskier making the occasional snide comment about a bad dancer or an overplayed tune if he thought it would make Geralt laugh. And it did, more often than not; Geralt was open and affectionate this evening, leaning down to whisper conspiratorially in Jaskier’s ear as they watched a couple sneak away from the dancefloor. Jaskier laughed into his glove, quickly beginning to feel light and soupy from the drink.

“I know this one,” Geralt said suddenly, drawing his attention back to the band. It was a slightly slower song, a couple’s dance. Bright gold eyes turned in Jaskier’s direction. “Want to dance?”

Jaskier gaped. “With you?”

Geralt’s eyebrow quirked upwards, betraying only exasperation. “Don’t see anyone else here making an offer.”

“Well, you - I - Alright,” he said, finally, swallowing his confusion. Geralt offered a hand, and Jaskier accepted.

They moved out towards the dancers, Jaskier feeling his heart rise in his throat. When they reached the edge of the pack, Geralt turned and gave Jaskier a short bow, overly formal for the setting. With an incredulous laugh, Jaskier returned the motion, and when he raised his head again Geralt was in his space, hands coming up to rest lightly on his waist.

It shouldn’t have been able to take his breath away so easily, but it did.

The motions of the dance were simple, basic circular pathways as they stepped out and back in together. Their hands never parted, but every time the steps pulled them apart Jaskier found himself missing Geralt’s warmth beside him. Slowly, the tempo picked up speed, until they were twisting and whirling around without pause. When the song ended, Jaskier was panting for breath. Geralt looked winded himself, though his chest rose and fell at the same rate it always did.

They made their way off the dance floor once again, ceding their spot to another couple. Geralt’s arm curled around Jaskier’s waist and he leaned into the touch, feeling more drunk than he should be. “You’re good at that, witcher,” he said, accusatorily. “I could have been taking you dancing all this time! How many balls have we been to?”

Geralt flushed faintly, the color staining his ears a fetching red. “The Wolf witchers use techniques that are similar to some dances,” he said. “The pacing, some of the moves, are familiar.”

“I’m never going to let this go,” Jaskier warned as they shuffled back towards the mouth of their alleyway. “You’re going to have to dance with me at every festival, ball, and banquet we ever attend from now on.”

Geralt smirked at him. “I don’t know that I mind.”

And what was that supposed to mean? Jaskier felt a flush spread down his cheeks, his throat, even his chest felt warm. Geralt didn’t mind dancing? Or didn’t mind dancing with Jaskier? Panicked, he said, “I’m going to get us more drinks!��

By the time he returned with more warm wine, he had managed to wrestle his emotions back into place. He passed Geralt one of the mugs, giving him a wide grin that he hoped would cover for his accelerated heartbeat.

As they drank, Jaskier found himself at a loss for words. He was happy to be here, truly. It was always enjoyable to spend time with the object of his affections, but at the same time, he felt something cold settling in his stomach that the wine could not touch. He glanced at Geralt out of the corner of his eye, watching the other man observe the dancers. His hair was in slight disarray from the dancing, his cheeks still slightly flushed, and Jaskier wanted him so badly it felt like a wound. He wished he could lace their fingers together as other couples around the square were. Wished he could sit in Geralt’s lap and feed him sweetmeats and honey cakes as the festivities melted away around them. It was difficult to be so close, and yet so far from what he actually desired.

Geralt glanced over at him, and something in Jaskier’s face must have betrayed his sudden turn into maudlin, because he didn’t look away. “Should we go?” Geralt asked, concern drawing his brow together.

Jaskier cursed himself, plastering on another smile. “No, no, dear heart, I’m enjoying myself plenty. The lanterns will probably be lit soon, don’t you think? Maybe we should go find ourselves a spot before the crowd arrives.”

Geralt nodded, still looking a bit worried. It was flattering, that he was clearly concerned about whether Jaskier was having a good time, but it only made him feel more wistful. Not looking to see if his friend was following, Jaskier began to pick his way out of the square, doing his best not to jostle any of the other partygoers. Geralt dogged him like a shadow, and they both emerged some minutes later in the silvery moonlight of the river walk.

Already Jaskier could see the bridge, some ways away to their left, dotted with lantern lights. The procession had made its way back. He stepped up to the edge of the river, leaning against the low wall that held the city back from its edge. Geralt stayed a step or two behind him, arms crossed against the chill. “This will be a good spot,” Jaskier said, leaning over the railing to point. “They’ll release them there, so we should be able to see them as they go up.”

“They do this every year?” Geralt asked, voice a low rumble. Now away from the noise of the crowd, it shook Jaskier’s bones.

He nodded. “For the last, hmm, thirty years, I think? The lanterns carry wishes, you see, requests for Melitele. They go up into the heavens, and when they come down they carry her blessing. So they say.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied. They stood together in silence as the little pinpricks on the bridge became a sea of candlelight, and slowly, one by one, began lifting up into the air. Soon the sky was awash with golden sparks, hovering above them.

Jaskier leaned against the wall, watching the lanterns make their way skyward. “Wish I’d thought to make one ahead of time,” he said wistfully, watching their lights twinkle in the darkness. “I didn’t know we’d be -” He turned to look at Geralt, who was rummaging around in his bag. “What are you doing?”

With a triumphant huff, Geralt found what he was looking for. He presented it to Jaskier with a sheepish looking grin, an unusually bashful look for the witcher. In his palm was a small square of paper and wood, maybe half the size of the other lanterns being set loose from the bridge. “I found someone selling them earlier,” he said, setting the little thing on the ledge of the wall in front of them. “Thought you might want to join in.”

Jaskier clapped his gloved hands together, delighted. “Oh, it’s just adorable,” he said, feeling his grin pull at his cold cheeks. He picked the thing up, cradling it delicately in his cupped hands. The paper sides were decorated with a floral pattern - tulips, or maybe buttercups. Jaskier reached forward towards Geralt. “Would you light it for me?”

Geralt reached out and snapped, the clean sound cutting through the still air. Immediately the paper in Jaskier’s hands began to warm, the little lantern glowing merrily. Carefully, Jaskier made his way to the edge of the river wall and leaned over the side, letting the lantern rest on his flat hands as it grew lighter. After a moment, it lifted gently off of his palms and started to drift skywards.

Geralt stepped up to join him, their shoulders pressing together as they leaned against the railing, watching their little lantern float up to join the sea of others. A wave of golden light blanketed the city, giving the river an otherworldly glow as it reflected the sky. Jaskier sighed happily, allowing Geralt’s constant warmth to wash over him. He turned to comment on the spectacle, but his words died on his lips as he found Geralt already looking at him. The warmth of the lanterns reflected in his eyes as well, making them glow with their own light in the darkness. Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat, his cheeks warming.

“This was nice,” Geralt said, his voice pitched low. The rumble of it sent a shiver up Jaskier’s spine. They were so close together, and Jaskier found himself turning into Geralt’s heat like a flower to the sun.

“Y-yes,” he stuttered, a beat too late. “It’s always a pleasure to spend an evening with you, my friend.”

Geralt hummed, a distracted noise, and lifted his bare hand up to Jaskier’s jaw. “Oh,” Jaskier said, surprise and confusion and clamouring hope blossoming in his chest, and then Geralt was kissing him.

It was a chaste little thing, but Jaskier felt himself light up at the touch. His own hands came up to grasp Geralt’s hips, the gloves or the shock making him clumsy. Geralt hummed again, a wickedly satisfied sound that made Jaskier shudder embarrassingly. He tasted like mulled wine and cinnamon, the taste lingering on Jaskier’s lips as they pulled away.

He stared at Geralt for a moment before clearing his throat. “What, erm. What was that for?”

Geralt gazed at him fondly, a thumb skating over Jaskier’s cheekbone. He knew it must be warm to the touch. “I wanted to,” he said, shrugging. “And it’s the customary way to end a romantic outing, I’m told.”

Jaskier blinked at him. “Romantic outing?”

Geralt’s head tilted to the side, giving Jaskier a confused look. “What did you think this was?”

“Oh,” Jaskier said again. “Oh!” He pulled a hand away from Geralt’s side to slap over his own forehead, feeling both extraordinarily foolish and giddy. “God’s above, this was a date?”

Geralt’s expression shuttered slightly, and his fingers slipped from Jaskier’s cheek to his shoulder. “You didn’t realize.”

Jaskier leaned forward, desperate to wipe the nervous look from Geralt’s face. He wrapped his own hands around Geralt’s neck, squeezing the base of his skull slightly. “I’m sorry, dearest, I didn’t, but I am delighted. Ecstatic, overjoyed, elated, euphoric, exultant -”

Geralt laughed, cutting him off. “Alright, I get it. You’re happy.”

“More assuredly so,” Jaskier agreed, grinning. He felt lighter than he had in years, floating on a bubble of joy. “Though I will say, we will probably need to go on another ‘romantic outing’ to be sure we do it right. I won’t have our first real date be one I wasn’t even aware of.”

Geralt leaned back in, his lips ghosting over Jaskier’s. The bard shivered, anticipation making his breath come faster. “I don’t know that I would mind that either,” he said, and then his lips found Jaskier’s once again. Jaskier laughed into the kiss, and knew that there would be many more chances for the perfect date to come.

#geraskier #the witcher #witcher #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt #fan fiction #fanfiction #fic #my work #witcher fic #sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo #sugar and spice #s&s

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writingsbychlo · 4 years ago

Text

smoke and fire (05)

word count; 10,782

summary; a team bonding night forces you and thomas to confront some issues, and it goes a lot better than you had thought it would.

notes; a sweet break from all the tension, you’re welcome.

warnings; not even one.

Closing your locker door, it was with a mildly relieved sigh as you did, the shift coming to a close, and you were ready to just relax. It wasn’t a hard day, in fact, since talking to Thomas and clearing things up between you both, these last few shifts had been better than ever.

You no longer felt like you were walking on eggshells with someone who hated you and may blow up at any moments, but instead, you were simply dealing with the usual precarious balancing act that came along with not quite fitting into somewhere, being a hexagon trying to fit into an octagon-shaped hole. Almost the right number of angles and edges, but not quite. No, this shift had just been particularly tiring because you’d been required to walk up eleven flights of stairs to get to a patient in an apartment building where the elevator was broken, you were wearing new work shoes that were pinching just a little, and your bra strap was digging in just slightly.

You couldn't wait to get home, actually.

Your legs ached, your shoulders felt chafed, and if you didn’t get these shoes off soon, you’d have blisters. As others moved around the locker room, you bid soft goodbye’s to them all when they voiced their own to you, your eyes finding Chuck on the way out, and watching as he scrolled through his music choices to set up his next playlist for the walk home.

Your jaw dropped, intending to call out to him, but Brenda was soon sidling up by his side, the two sparking a conversation, and you didn’t bother, not wanting to interrupt the pair as their chatter began. You were reaching the open doors to the bay, looking out to the roads as you prepared to round the building and find the carpark, when your name was being called out, loudly, echoing around the walls of the garage and causing you to halt in your steps, turning around to see Minho.

Newt was by his side, the blond waving a little as he disappeared back into the station or finish up whatever he was doing, and you waited for a second as the darker-haired man caught up to you, grinning through the pant his short jog had created, one hand coming up to adjust the bag on his shoulder as he stopped by your side.

“Hey, can I walk you to your car?” You raised a brow at him, looking out at the scarcely fading daylight of the day shift coming to an end in the early evening, and the minimally short walk it was to the parking lot, which you could already see through the thin lining of trees. “We can chat, I have a question for you.”

That made more sense, and you nodded your head, taking a step in that direction as he matched your space, your feet meeting the cool concrete outside of the firehouse. “You know I can’t give you drugs, right? Wish I could, but it’s totally illegal, and very unethical. You’ll have to just drink away your sorrows like the rest of us.”

He scoffed, staring at you for a second, before letting out the laugh that he was holding in, his shoulder bumping a little against yours. “Damn, and here I was planning to build my pharmaceutical black-market empire solely on your cooperation.”

“Damn, if only I didn’t have a moral compass.” You sighed, gravel crunching under your feet and his as the two of you crossed over the pathway marking the official property, and the parking lot, only a few cars left from your team, all the others belonging to the new rotation who had just arrived. “So, what’s up? You got an injury, or something?”

“No, nothing like that.” He shrugged, following you along as you neared your vehicle, and he considered his next words carefully, it seemed. “I’m having a little get together tonight. Just a squad night, and I remember Chuck saying something about a movie night, I figured we’d just pick that back up. It’s going to be at my place, most of the team are coming.”

You reached your car, silence falling between the two of you as you unlocked it, and dumped your bag down onto the passenger seat. You thought about it all, who might be there, and the implications of actually going over to someone’s house. That was personal, to invite someone into your home, and you weren’t sure you were ready - or if you ever would be - to have someone from the team over to your apartment. In fact, you couldn't remember the last time you’d had a friend over to your place. Then, it clicked a little, remembering the conversation you’d witnessed taking place before Minho had joined you. “Did Newt put you up to this?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, did Newt tell you that you had or invite me to this?” You repeated, and he bit on his lower lip for a second, his eyes dropping from yours.

“No, not technically. I brought up the idea of doing something with the team, and he said ‘well, you’re inviting (Y/N) and Chuck too, right?’ and I absolutely was already planning on inviting you.” Your eyes narrowed on him a little, and an honest look flashed over his features, where cheeky and teasing expressions normally lay. “I swear it.”

You considered it for a few seconds longer, but you knew that if you turned this event down, even if the idea of seeing your colleagues outside of work still made you anxiety spike high, that you’d never be invited to anything again if you didn’t accept, and so you gave in. “Sure, text me your address?”

“Great, come by anytime after seven, we’ll probably start Chuck’s movie at about eight.”

He gave you a thumbs-up as he backed away to his own car, and you wondered for a second whether he even had your number, but he was walking away, already busy texting at his phone again as he left, and you figured he would simply get it from Newt if need be. Settling down into your car and starting it up, the radio came on in a loud blast, making you jump slightly and fumble to turn it down, shaking the shock from your body before setting off into drive.

As you drove along, you couldn't help but let your mind wander to who would be there. You knew Minho had mentioned Chuck, and you desperately hoped the young boy would be there because he was the first of the team who had welcomed you, and was so far the person who made you the most comfortable of them all, because you felt as though you fitted in with him the best. He understood you, despite your differences. You were a girl who’d had too many houses, and he was a boy who had barely seen one yet, and so the struggle of being outsiders seemed to match up perfectly.

He was funny, and reliable, and you knew you’d feel at least slightly better if he was there. You hoped Brenda would be, too. Something along the line between camaraderie and friendship had been growing between you both, and you definitely didn’t want to be the only chick there, because then they’d want o have guy talk, and you’d end up sitting silently and trying to slip away mentally to your happy place as you died on the inside a little.

Of course, Newt would be there, but he was one of the most sociable people you’d ever met, and so you couldn't exactly rely on him to spend the entire evening by your side just because you still felt like you were in a room full of strangers when your anxiety got the better of you. Even if you were certain he would if you asked him to.

Pulling out onto the highway, your music clicked off, your ringtone taking over a second later through the car’s speakers, and your brows furrowed as you looked down, a number you didn’t recognise, and you freed up one hand from the steering wheel to click accept on it once you were comfortably within a line.

“Hey, girl!”

“Hi, Gina Linetti.” You scoffed, hearing the chuckle of your coworker through the phone, and making a note to save Brenda’s number to your phone. “What do you need? I’m not turning back around to the fire station. I’m, like, five minutes from home. If you’re not dying, it can wait until next shift. Or, go to the hospital, I’ll text Derek and let him know you’re on your way.” You snickered at your own joke, and you gasped a little.

“Who’s Derek?”

“The doctor from Aaron’s case.” You flicked on your indicators, moving across the lanes slowly toward the exit as it began to near, and you waited as she thought on it, before gasping.

“You mean the hot doctor?”

“I guess.” You shrugged to yourself, before realising she couldn't’ see you, and before she could ask more, she was cursing loudly at someone else on the roads, clearly having called you from her car, and your eyes widened a little at the road rage she exhibited, trying to curb your humour in an attempt not to laugh.

“Fuckin’ idiots on the roads.” She huffed through the crackly speakers, and you grinned a little peeling off down an exit road and following the path you’d learned well toward the place you were now calling home. “Anyway, I figured I could come pick you up for Minho’s later? You’re drinking, that's not up for debate, and so you can’t take your car and try to drive home afterwards.”

“I didn’t know this was a drinking kind of thing.”

“It’s Minho’s event, of course, it’s a drinking kind of thing.” She spoke the words as thought you were supposed to know that, as though you knew him well enough, or had hung out with him for long enough that you’d know what a gathering hosted by each member of the team would be like. She seemed to sense the tension, clearing her throat to brush over it. “You don’t need to bring anything, just dress comfy for a night of movies and snacks, that’s it. I’ll pick you up in, like, two hours?”

“You’ll need my address for that.”

“Then you’d better give it to me.” She teased, making your roll your eyes fondly, and the streetlights around you were just beginning to warm up as dusk began to fade into the sky, muted shades of pastel purples and pinks coming in as the sun set, setting an iridescent backdrop for grey clouds. “Text it to me, and I’ll see you soon.”

“Cool.”

She hung up after that, the music clicking back on, and as the conversation ended, you couldn't help but feel like you’d somehow been conned into something, Brenda having had you agreeing to carpooling and drinking and a longer night than planned before you'd even known it, smooth and subtle to get her way, leaving your head spinning. As you pulled into the underground parking lot of the apartment building, you sat in the seat for a second, staring out in confusion at the other cars as you wondered what the hell had happened.

Less than an hour ago, you’d been planning to come home, make some pasta, have a bath and maybe do some reading, a night spent by yourself was the normal, all you had planned, and yet somehow, you now had plans to get tipsy and watch a movie with your team, and you were unprepared. The smell of vomit was still lingering on you from your latest patient and had greasy hair, the wash load you would have done later tonight or tomorrow for your next shift a couple of days would now be crammed into two hours; you had to wash up, make sure there was money in your wallet for a taxi later, find some alcohol from somewhere, get your uniform into and out of the washer to dry, all for plans you didn’t know you had until now.

You bit your lip, shaking your head, snatching your keys from the ignition and getting on with your preparations. You had a lot to do.

The second that you were pushing the door open with your shoulder, you kicked off your shoes, leaving them abandoned at the side of the door as you pulled back and took in the apartment. It wasn’t too messy, but it was another chore you’d been intending to get done tonight, so that you could make the most of your day off, and you let out a heavy sigh as you took it all in. Your first stop was your shower, bag dropping from your shoulder to the floor much like your shoes, abandoned to be sorted later, and you stripped of your clothes as you walked, shirt being unbuttoned and belt loosened, until you were standing in your underwear in the laundry room and stripping it all off in front of the washing machine.

It wasn’t ready to be set off yet, but you needed to shower first, and so your first call was there, tugging the band loose from your hair and running your fingers through it as your ponytail finally came loose, strands sitting awkwardly and messy atop your head in their fixed position. A text on your phone caught your attention, and you were tempted to ignore it, before realising it was probably Minho texting his address across, and it reminded you to send Brenda your own.

Switching on the warm water, you darted from the room, letting it warm up behind you as you searched for your phone, locating the device on the counter and saving his number to your contacts, replying with a simple ‘thank you’, before sending your own address across to Brenda. She, in turn, replied with a series of smiley emojis that made you laugh a little under your breath, not bothering to respond and putting the phone down.

As you stepped back into the bathroom, you were rubbing at your eyes tiredly and suppressing a yawn, shaking yourself down in an attempt to shake away the work fatigue in order to attend the plans you now had, and make the most of them.

The steam was tempting you in, the heat coming from the water was calling out to you, and as you stepped over the edge of the tub, one leg under the water, before the second was following, pulling your body under the spray and letting the what spread over your skin, a sigh slipping from you. It was relaxing, to be able to physically feel the grime slipping from your skin and down the drain as you cleaned yourself off.

The smell of bile on your skin was replaced with that of fresh and sensual smells from the creamy body wash on your side, perfume style and floral scents, something much more comforting and relaxing and you found your muscles loosening under the spray. You didn’t get to stay in the water as long as you wanted, only long enough to rinse off your hair and settle into a more comfortable state of mind. You were tempted to call it all off, to run a hot bath and put a bathbomb in it, something that would leave your apartment smelling great for hours, but you couldn't, you knew you’d already agreed, and you still had so much to do before Brenda got here.

Hopping out, with a towel wrapped around your body and another around your hair, you didn’t get to spend as long pampering yourself as you wanted to, the sheet mask on your counter that you wouldn't get to use tonight, and your favourite sets of moisturisers next to it, but instead, you had to rush through your routine, making sure your skin was taken care of, before combing through the lengths of your hair and leaving it untangled around your shoulders.

With a basket under your arm, you dashed throughout the apartment, trying to scoop up all of the old laundry that you had to try and get through, not wanting to start with chores on your day off when you’d intended to use the evening to do it all, and so you were rushing to get it at least started now. Dropping your collection in front of the machine, you sorted through it all, dividing it into piles and making sure your uniform was on the first collection, absolutely ensured to go through.

There was some basic cleaning up to be done, setting off the washer and pulling the door to the laundry room almost shut, hands on towel-covered hips as you stared around the main room, a lived-in mess that wasn’t out of control, but somehow, the time had slipped so far past you that you felt as if the clock was spinning at double speeds, less than an hour left until your friend was due here, and you let out a loud groan.

You figured that getting dressed might be a wise place to start, drying off damp strands of hair before choosing the most relaxed but still reasonably appropriate outfit that you could. Something that wouldn't make you feel embarrassed or insecure, but also met the requirements of ‘comfy and cosy’ for a night of drinking and snacking. With dry hair that wasn’t bothered to be pulled back, phantom pains along your scalp just at the mere idea of being slicked back once again, you were left to try and get some tidying done before it was time for you to leave.

You skidded around a little on the polished wood floors under you, socks making them slippery, and you started in the kitchen, shoving all the pots and plates that you’d neglected to take care of into the dishwasher, and setting it off on an extra-long cycle to get at the tougher spots that would usually require scrubbing if you did it in the sink.

While it ran, you plugged your phone in for some last-minute charging, your favourite songs beginning to emanate around the room and fill the house with sound, letting you sing along quietly under your breath as you fold your blankets, straightened out the couch cushions, and wiped down the later of dust that was beginning to build. A lamp lightbulb needed replacing, and so did the canister in your air freshener, but your phone was repeatedly chiming from the kitchen counter you'd left it on, and the sound of a car’s horn came from the street outside of your house a moment later as you realise your friend must’ve arrived.

Peering out of your window, your suspicions were confirmed, catching her head moving as she made to get out of her car, pulled up haphazardly onto the sidewalk to wait for you, and you decided that everything else could wait until tomorrow. A quick wash over room spray over it all, and the rest of your tasks needed to be left. You hadn't managed to rustle up any drinks from your cupboards, or nothing appropriate to take with you, anyway, but you were certain you’d be able to swing by a store on the way, or you’d share whatever Newt had brought and send him half the money for it.

Tugging on a pair of sneakers and cursing under your breath as the horn sounded again, your phone still chiming, you hopped around a little to pull the shoes on, grabbing a hoodie to pull over your t-shirt from the coat hooks by your door, the first jumper your hand found, and bringing it over your head. Snatching up your phone, keys, and wallet, you flicked at the lights and left the building, the catch on the food locking your apartment up nicely.

The light had faded since you had gotten home, a crisp night chill began to seep in, even more so in the main lobby as you stepped out of the elevator, seeing her parked up front, and your jaw dropped as you took her in. She looked up, sensing the movement, and grinned at you, your eyes canning along her body, before you were scowling a little.

“Bren! What the fuck?”

“What the fuck; what? Hurry up!” She leaned down and pressed the horn again, only making you scowl at her more, as she assumed that was what had you all wound up.

“You said to dress casual and comfy!” You hissed, nearing her and crossing your arms over your chest as you felt a little uncomfortable now in a hoodie and some soft cotton pants, something that was a cross between leggings and sweatpants, and you couldn't remember what they had been called.

“This is what I wear to be comfy!”

“That is what I would wear to a club!” You stared at her, the cropped tank top and the skinny jeans and the heels that were over her knees, and you let out a huff. “Hey, I can’t be held responsible. Have you seen my ass? I gotta’ flaunt it while I still got it. Get in the car, you look fine, everyone else will be the same.”

“If they’re not, I will legitimately go home.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She grinned, slamming the passenger door as you got inside, grinning at you through the window before making her way around to the driver’s side, and something about her attitude was already making you regret your decision. She seemed like a hugely reckless driver, and you fastened your belt up quickly, and held onto it as she peeled away from the sidewalk of your building. “We have to go to the store too.”

“Why?” You question, slumping in your seat as she picked up the speeds a little more, and with her swerving in traffic and swearing lowly at other drivers who were actually following the speed limits, your suspicions were confirmed.

“Because all Minho ever has in is guy things for team nights. It’s always nachos and beer and pretzels, and pickles. Now I have another chick, we can get good snacks and I have someone to share it with.” Your brows furrowed, thinking back on a conversation you’d had with Thomas only a week prior, before disappearing to find your team, who’d already claimed a table at the bar, and all of your questions had been washed away.

“Wasn’t the paramedic before me a chick, though?”

Brenda’s face screwed up into a grimace, and she checked her mirrors, searching around the parking lot of the store, and you yelped with a little shock as she spun the car and a jerky angle into a parking space, reversing in line with the other vehicles on either side. “Teresa? Yeah, but she didn’t come to these things much. She did once she started dating Thomas, but even when she was there, she wasn’t really there, y’know?”

“So, they were, like, a thing? Serious, and all that?”

Brenda paused for a second, the engine still running, but a look you didn’t recognise crossed over her features as she stared out of the glass, watching others go by for a second and nibbling on her lip. You undid your belt, twisting in your seat a little, and wondered whether you’d crossed a line. “It’s not my place to say.”

Definitely crossed a line, then.

You had no idea how to backtrack, or get out of that situation, gaping a little, before she seemed to sense your discomfort, resetting herself and turning to face you. “I’m thinking white wine, what do you normally drink.”

“Not wine.” You teased, and she scoffed, rolling her eyes a little and killing the engine, before she was getting out of the car and stretching a little.

“Well, you’re gonna’ have to learn to love it, because as my only female friend, you’re the only person I have to do my girly-bucket list with. Like go to fancy cocktails bars and go to a wine tasting event in a fancy dress.”

“I like vodka and mini-golf. Work with what you’re given.”

She beamed, her arm linking through yours as the two of you made you way through crisp evening air toward the doors of the store. “Don’t worry, a few weeks around me and I’ll have you sipping Rioja and getting your nails done, and you’ll never even notice the change.”

“Uh-huh.”

You could fight it all that you liked, but the truth was, you were elated just to know that she considered you a friend close enough to want to do these things with, and that you might be able to finally have an out-of-work friend, too.

You never had anybody to go to nice restaurants with when you drove past them, or concerts when your favourite bands were in town, or even just someone to talk to on a lonely night. You wanted friends to buy Christmas presents for and birthdays other than your own to celebrate, and someone to be thankful for at Thanksgiving, and despite how much you’d resisted at first, with every passing week, it seemed more and more like Firehouse ‘21 and the team there were making themselves into that for you, breaking past your defences without even realising they were.

Brenda grabbed a cart from the line-up, the warm air washing over you both as the doors hissed open, and you paused at the entrance, staring around it all in mild awe as you tried to decide where to start.

“Wanna’ get that wine first, then?”

“Yep. The boys’ snacks can wait, I just saw a deal on Twizzlers.” She bolted ahead of you, leaving you in the dust for only a second, before you were forcing your feet into action, and following after her, all but stumbling as you went. She was in the candy aisle when you caught up with her, a packet of strawberry Twizzlers in one hand and raspberry in the other, seemingly weighing out the pros and cons of each one. “Which do you prefer?”

“I like both.” You shrugged, and she turned to look at you, a perfectly done brow raising at you.

“Yes, but which do you prefer?”

You grinned, taking the raspberry ones from her hand, waving it at her for a second, and you dumped it in the cart. The offer was getting a second one free to match, and so she dumped a matching packet of raspberry ones to follow, the two items sliding about in the base of the cart as she pushed a few metres further down the aisle.

“So, I’ll let you pick the wine, since we are having wine. Or, I’ll pick the wine, and you can drink beer with the men.” She gagged a little at the idea, and while neither would be your first choice on drinks, wine was infinitely better than beer. At least it tried to have flavour and be fruity, as opposed to beer, which you felt was more like a bitter assault on your mouth. She added a packet of Hershey’s Kisses to the cart, as well as some Reece’s Pieces and M&Ms. You weren’t sure where the two of you were supposed to put all of this, listening to her talk about snacks all the way around, until she was adding two tubes of Pringles and three packets of potato chips to the cart, placing all her hopes on Minho actually owning the rest of the ingredients to make nachos, and something within you doubted that he would, and so you slipped a jar of salsa dip in there too.

When you finally made it to the drinks aisle, you were staring up at the bottles on the shelf, information underneath like ‘dry’, ‘crisp’, ‘spiced’ and ‘aromatic’ that meant absolutely nothing to you, they all seemed exactly the same, just with different labels. You were relying on her for advice, brushing your hand over various bottles, to see which way she perked up in, up and down, left and right, as you searched for her favourite.

You felt like you were getting somewhere, subtle and discreet ways to find what she really wanted as you had no idea what to pick, when her phone rang, and you paused, turning to look at her as she fished it from her pocket, bringing the screen up to take a look, before answering the call.

“Hi, Min.”

You raised a brow, stepping away from the shelf for a second and trying to offer her a look as though to ask whether something as wrong, your heart dropping a little in your chest at the idea of it being cancelled, because in the short spell of time you’d been shopping with Brenda, you’d found yourself quite looking forward to the evening. Your question seemed to be conveyed well enough, because she shook her head, a small smile on her lips as you waited.

“We’re at the store. We’re, like, twenty minutes late. Relax.”

You were certain that you weren’t, you’d only been here for about twenty minutes, but as you searched for your phone, you found the time to read almost an hour later than when you’d entered, your jaw dropping a little as the time had flown past without you even noticing. The pair of you had bickered playfully all the way around, mumbled girl-talk as you wandered the store, and it wasn’t the same kind of forced conversation you were oh-so-used to providing, but it had been a genuine conversation that you’d enjoyed.

Brenda was chatting with Minho now, a softer smile on her face as the words went hushed, and your lips pursed, trying to hold in your smile as you watched the interaction, the bashful look on her face where she was normally so confident. You instead managed to busy yourself with looking back at the drinks again, trying to work out what any of the words staring back at you meant, and eventually, you settled on a bottle of rosé.

It felt like a middle ground, a compromise between red and white, couldn't be too far wrong, and it promised to be sweet and fruity, and that was probably the bet you were going to get out of the whole situation, so you placed a bottle on it down into the cart. The clinging of glass on metal caught her attention, and she turned around, glancing down at your selection before making a face, that was something you were going to take as mild approval, a mental pat on the back awarded to yourself, and she reached for a second bottle, your laugh muffled behind your hand as you watched her do so.

“Yeah, okay, we’ll be there in, like, fifteen minutes. Tops.”

She hummed a little longer, Minho still talking on the end of the phone, before she finally hung open, putting away her phone, and pacing her hands on the edge of the cart. “Everything okay?”

“Totally, he just wanted to know when we were going to get there, everyone else has already arrived.” She shrugged it off as you grimaced, guiding the two of you towards the checkouts, and you eyed up all the available spots as you went, trying to decide whether or not it was appropriate for you to mention the little something you’d noticed in that call between her and Minho.

You felt like you were still nothing more than a coworker, but everything about the evening so far had suggested that you were a friend, and that was definitely a friendship kind of topic.

You would never know if you didn’t try, and if she shut you down on it, then you knew where you stood with her, but if you never bothered to try, then you’d never have any friends at all.

“So, you and Minho, huh?”

Her jaw dropped, turning to look at you for a second, before a smirk was taking over her features, and she was staring back ahead, setting herself up on the nearest conveyor-belt and beginning to unpack the groceries, with your help. “That’s nothing particular. We just.. hook up sometimes.”

You gasped, turning to look at her, your hands on your hips as she unpacked the last few items. “You scandalous little thing! With a coworker, no less!”

She feigned the same energy, placing a hand over her heart and the other over her forehead, letting out a heavy breath. “I know, practically sinful, whatever will I do?” The pair of you giggled, the cashier not paying any attention to either of you as the young boy began to check out the items, taking the tag from the bottle of wine and scanning each item through, the two of you trying to pack it all into paper bags before it piled up, keeping up with his speed. “Seriously, though, what do I do?”

“About Minho?”

“Yeah.” She whispered, and you nibbled on your lower lip, watching her punch her PIN into the card machine as she paid for the shopping, one bag in your arms and one in hers as you held onto everything. “It’s been going on or a while, and it’s casual, but, I kinda’ like being around him, all the time.”

She grabbed the receipt, the two of you turning to the door, and only a few steps later, stepping back out into the cold air, headed towards her car. “You like him in a date him kind of way?”

“Maybe.” She sighed glancing over at you for a second, a smile on her lips. “I mean, maybe that’s just the whole post-sex glow thing, and it’s always so normal at work. Normal in a totally-never-seen-you-naked kind of way, as if it never happened, and that feels right, too. I’m a little confused, I guess.”

“Well, maybe, you should just spend some time with him and work it out.” She gave you a look, waving the bag of groceries in her arms, before trying to find her keys to open up the vehicle as you neared it, and you scoffed. “I meant time alone, like, not with the whole team in the same room.”

She rolled her eyes a little, cheeks turning slightly pink as she thought about it, and the conversation seemed to end there, taking the bag from you and placing it into the trunk of her car. As you settled yourself back into the driver’s seat, she was a little more pensive, pulling out of her parking space and setting off on a drive you figured she knew well on her way to Minho’s house, the music of the radio playing to fill a comfortable silence.

It was an area of the city that you were unfamiliar with, not being much of an adventurer, spending most of your time at home when you could, because you never really had a reason to go out. You had nobody to visit, and no friends to take out anywhere, and so you didn't fern explore anywhere that wasn’t in the immediate couple of blocks to where you lived or worked, but now, you felt a little more like you had a reason to be curious about your city.

“He invited me to stay over, tonight.”

You perked up a little bit, shifting in your seta to look at her, and she kept her eyes on the road, but there was a sheepish smile on her face. “Yeah? What did you say?”

“I haven’t decided. I packed a few things in a bag, in case, but I’m not sure.” You glanced into the backseat, not having noticed the small back stashed beside the shopping until now, but a change of clothes and a phone charger was within, presumably with some other things, and you tried to cover up your excitement, bursting with joy for the woman beside you as she possibly took a step towards her happiness.

“You totally should.”

“Yeah?” She muttered, pulling up towards a fancy-looking apartment block, stopping at the barricade displayed underneath and punching in the code, before the barrier was lifting up, allowing you inside. Your building didn’t have that kind of measures on the parking lot, and you were a mix between excited and anxious to see where Minho lived. “What about you, though, how are you going to get home?”

“Not with you, that was for sure. You’re drinking, and you’re already a wild driver.” You teased, hearing her scoff, one hand freeing up to smack at your arm lightly, only furthering your amusement.

“I’m a great driver.”

“Yeah, for Formula One racing, maybe.” She hummed under her breath, rolling her eyes and making a point of swinging in a particularly fast and wide movement into a parking spot, making you squeal as you feared she was going to bump the car on each side or crash the car, and yet somehow, she managed not to do either of those things. “You’re insane! I was planning to get a taxi, anyway, but now it’s confirmed.”

“I don’t want you getting in a cab alone.”

“I’ll be fine.” You shrugged, and she only stared at you a moment longer, her gaze seemingly getting more intense, and you squirmed a little bit, unclipping yourself and getting out of the car. She followed you, both doors slamming shut, before she was offering you a shopping bag, and changing her tactic from judgemental glares to puppy dog eyes, and you huffed, letting her lock the car and waiting for her to guide the way. “Would it make you feel better if I shared a cab with one of the boys on my way home?”

“It really would.”

“Then, I will. Just for you.” She beamed, blowing you a kiss from a few feet away as she rounded the car, and came up to your side to direct you to the building. There was a simple tune playing in the elevator as you rode up, the metal on the door shining and clean, the walls on either side of you were mirrors, and once you stepped out, the corridor was classy. Not the slightly tacky and vaguely 80’s looking carpet that most apartment buildings bought to line the halls because it as the cheapest option available on mass, but this was sleek, a dark grey colour to match pale grey walls, decorated with soft blue flowers along the way, and dark mahogany doors with golden lettering along each one.

Minho was number fifty-four, and you weren’t even sure which floor you were on but it was high up, you could tell from the view at the window near the end of the hall, and you were almost certain that the price of this apartment must be double the price simply because of the view. The door swung open only moments after Brenda had knocked, because Minho was standing before you both, and you groaned a little as you took him in.

“Do neither of you understand what comfy clothes means?”

Minho looked shocked for only a second, glancing down at himself, a pair of skinny jeans and a jumper that looked like it cost more than your entire outfit did, and he shrugged, making you feel a little insecure in your battered old hoodie that had a hole for a thumb and some loose threads. “This is comfy, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, sure it is.” You mumbled, adjusting the groceries in your arms, and he held the door open for you a little further. Brenda already knew her way around, that much was obvious from the way that she marched straight into the house, loud cheers from somewhere within lighting up from the rest of the team, a chorus of loud shouts and hollers of things along the lines of ‘finally!’ and ‘about time!’ making you grin a little at the group finally being complete. “You want me to just put these in your kitchen, then?”

“Yeah, sounds cool. Just, um, dump your shoes wherever, or keep them on if you want, and I can give you a little tour so you don’t get lost.”

“Your place is that big?” You grinned, stepping inside and toeing off your shoes to join the pile of assorted sneakers, boots and scattered slides that were on the floor. Before you were wandering along after Minho. The place really was that big, it was huge, actually, polished wooden floors along the corridors, and your place was almost entirely open plan, only a few doors, and yet Minho had walls to divide with real doors and low lighting that was intimate and fancy and it was all very impressive. “How the hell do you afford this place?”

“Only fans.” He sighed, glancing back at you over his shoulder, before snickering, and leading you into the large kitchen. An island in the middle, marble countertops and a shining coffee machine that looked like it belonged in a Starbucks sat in the corner, and you placed your bag down on the counter to match with Brenda’s, but had no idea where she’d gone. “I’m kidding, it’s not mine. It’s my grandma’s, she lives out of the city. I’m basically Monica Geller.”

“You went with Monica instead of choosing to be Ross? The guy?”

“Who the fuck wants to be Ross we-were-on-a-break Geller?” He teased, beginning to look through the bags, gasping a little as he pulled out the items stacking them up neatly, and grinning at the packet of Skittles he found that was clearly intended for him. “Thanks for coming, I’m glad you’re here.”

“If I’m being totally honest, I wasn’t going to.”

He looked up, raising a questioning brow at you as he prompted you to continue, and he tore open the packet of candy, tipping a few out into his hand and emptying them into his mouth from his palm, chewing as he waited for your answer.

“I feel like I’m invading. Like, you know when you’re having family dinner and your sibling invites their friend to stay without telling anyone and then nobody has any fun because you really want to eat a third bread roll and burp out loud but you can’t because you don’t want to embarrass your sibling and so everyone is on their best behaviour and it sucks?” He stared at you for a second, amusement flickering over his features, before he was nodding his head. “Well, I feel like the sibling’s friend who senses how uncomfortable it all is and knows they’ve messed everything up and now wishes they’d just gone home for their own dinner.”

“Well, I don’t think you’ve messed anything up, and I promise, if you burp out loud then I will burp as well so that you’re not alone.”

“You can’t just burp on command, but thanks for the offer.” You teased, watching as he turned to reach for two glasses, shining glass that made you fear touching it just in case you smashed it.

“Uh, I absolutely fucking can, wanna’ see?”

“No, not reall-”

He cut you off, a loud burp echoing aloud the kitchen, and you grimaced at the sound of the belch before he was making it again. You gagged falsely, turning your face away from him, and he did it again, laughing around himself, before he was continuing to go on, and you scoffed at him.

“Stop it! You’re awful, that is disgusting.”

“You asked for it!” He shouted back, belching again, and you groaned loudly, Chuck entering the kitchen right as Minho let out yet another loud burp.

“Chuck! Make him stop!”

“I just came in here for a drink.” He raised his hands in a surrender, and you rolled your eyes at the pair of them, watching as Chuck open the fridge, searching around for the bottle opener as he pulled back two fresh lagers, condensation forming on the glass as soon a they met the warm temperature of the room, and you worked on the cork in the top of your wine bottle until it came out with a ‘pop’.

“Are you even old enough to drink?”

Minho laughed, loudly, and Chuck scowled at you as he released the metal sealing from the glass, and the other, and you lifted the first glass to begin to fill it with wine. “Yes, I am old enough, thank you. I’m twenty-two in a few months.”

“Aw, cutie.” You teased, pinching at his cheek and he smacked your hand away, diverting to the other room, and leaving you to fill the second glass. You did happen to notice that Chuck was wearing a normal person’s version of comfy clothes, though; a pair of baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt, and you sighed a little in relief. At least Minho and Brenda would make the world’s most stylish couple when together. “Alright, Minho, you promised me a tour of your fancy bachelor pad.”

“Bachelor pad? I like that!” He grinned, and you grabbed the two glasses of wine, sticking a packet of raspberry Twizzlers into your pockets before the two of you were setting off, and he was guiding you through the halls. He didn’t need to show you much, just vaguely pointing to what was behind each door, an office he used as a home gym, the laundry room, his bedroom - to which you didn’t fail to spot Brenda’s bed sitting out on the covers, but did resist mentioning - and then the bathroom.

Guiding you back through, large double doors that slide along the wall were pulled open, revealing the group inside. Brenda grinned as she saw you, lounging on a large chair, big enough for multiple people, and Minho took one of the glasses from your hands as he made his way over to her, offering up a glass of wine and sitting down in the chair alongside her, and she grinned at you a little bashfully as she remained calm. You liked being in on a little secret with her, on knowing something the other’s didn’t it made you feel a little less like you were on the outside but instead like you were being brought into the warmth from the cold.

There were several seats you could choose from. Cushions and blankets were laid out along the floor, the coffee table pushed aside, and you could sit between Fry and Newt on the floor, leaning back against the couch with plenty of space available to you, or you could find a seat beside Chuck, who was sitting cross-legged in front of the TV, a stack of DVDs beside him, but your back was already aching at the thought of sitting up straight for so long.

The final seat was on the cushions of one couch beside Thomas. He was leaning at an angle, Gally on his other side, a space between them both and you immediately felt your walls shoot back up at the mere idea of sitting with him, but the couch looked so inviting, and there was space, and you did want to try and make headway on that truce that the two of you had called, so you gave in. Making your way over to him, you made sure to ruffle newt’s hair as you passed him by, avoiding the way he was slapping at your hands and growling a little mid-conversation there, before he was returning to what he was saying.

Pausing in front of the man who was slumped over and texting on his phone, and you cleared your throat a little. “Can I sit with you?”

His eyes flicked down to the space that he was half-leaning over into, before nodding his head, and you sat down as he moved, feeling the tension building once again. Taking a tentative sip of your wine, you found that the drink wasn’t all that bad, while it may not be your favourite choice you certainly weren’t hating it, and you took another gulp to try and drown out the tension.

Leaning down and balancing your glass on the floor, out of the way of anyone that might get in the way, you moved onto pulling the packet of Twizzlers from your pocket, you tore it open, pulling one out and placing it between your teeth to take a light bite from it. Holding up the packet, you tried to be friendly again, the plastic crinkling as you lifted it. “You want one?”

He glanced, eyes flickering over the packet, before licking his lips, flicking up minutely at the sides. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.” You nodded, letting him pluck one from the packet, before he was looking back down to the phone screen, and taking a large bite out of it, and you sighed a little.

You took a breath, preparing an attempt at making conversation once again, but he didn’t even look up, not even a flinch for you, and so your jaw snapped shut again, turning away to eat your candy as you gave up on even trying at a tenuous alliance with him, the possibility of week friendship seeing to fly out of the window.

Crossing your legs underneath you on the couch, you pulled the sleeves of your hoodie down over your hands, rubbing at them anxiously as you looked around.

“I like your hoodie.”

You jumped a little, entirely startled by his voice beside you, and your head twisted back to look at him, brows raised slightly as he actually spoke to you, and you glanced down at it, the faded blue and orange logo across the front barely visible anymore, you’d had it so long. “You’re a Mets fan?”

“Long suffering.” He shrugged, sitting up a little further, and he clicked his phone off, pushing it into the pocket of his sweatpants. “You know, maybe one day, we’ll be fortunate enough to catch a full game without getting interrupted for a call.”

“What, with our houses’ luck? You’re swinging big there.” You teased, and he grinned, a small laugh leaving him, before he was reaching over to the packet sitting in your lap and taking two more of the soft candy-sticks from within, and offering one to you, before tearing a large chunk from his own with his teeth.

“Go big or go home, right?”

“I suppose so.” You sighed, chewing on your treat as he sat up a little more, his eyes sweeping over your face, and down over your shoulders, and you felt a little nervous under his gaze.

The armour of professionalism that was usually so securely constructed around you was crumbled down. Uniform and tight ponytail made it easy to frown and put up walls and treat everybody like strangers because they knew no other side of you, but now you were exposed, like an open wound. It was all traded for soft hair that fell around your shoulders and a small smile from the joy of the evening so far, clear skin and comfortable clothes and nothing that helped you man the defences, and so you hummed subconsciously, his gaze snapping back to your own as you made the sound.

Leaning down again, you collected your glass, bringing it to your lips and taking a sip, swirling the contents around in the glass as you swallowed, because you couldn't stand the scrutinising gaze he was putting you under, fear creeping in.

“You look nice.”

It wasn’t what you’d been expecting, your sights finding him once again, soft brown eyes fixed on yours as he shrugged a little, the pink on his cheeks from the warmth of the room growing a little darker, but he smiled nonetheless.

“Y’know, with your hair down and everything.” His fingers came up, wrapping lightly around the tips of a strand of hair, playing with it for a split second, before his hand and his gaze was falling away once again, and you flushed with heat as you felt yourself at a loss for words, unsure how to approach him as a regular person, and not as the Lieutenant who hated you, and it seemed that honesty was the best way.

“You’re not as scary when you’re not in uniform.”

“You thought I was scary?” He echoed, an indiscernible look passing over his features, and you nodded your head, the truth undeniable.

“Absolutely terrifying.” You downed what was left in your glass, wishing you had gotten more as it came up empty, and you were going to need more alcohol to get you through this conversation and this night, because the slight buzz you were barely beginning to feel was doing nothing to help your nerves.

Getting to your feet, you excused yourself, headed back towards the kitchen to find a refill, and as you locate the bottle sitting in the fridge, someone clearly having put it away at some point, you brought it back out, pouring double the contents of your original potion into the glass, taking a large drink from it and topping it back up. As another pair of footsteps entered the kitchen, you jumped, almost dropping the glasses in your hands with shock, and turning to push the fridge closed, still holding the bottle.

“Jeez, Thomas, you scare the hell out of me.”

“You were scared of me?” He questioned again, arms crossing over his chest, and your eyes flicked down to them, the tone in his voice taking on the same flat and commanding aspect that it did when he was in the field and making calls, and he seemed to take the hint, his arms dropping again and shoulder slouching. “I thought we just argued. Now I feel even worse.”

“It’s not your fault. Well, it is, but-” He frowned as you spoke, and you only continued to fumble with your words. “Look, I was being a bitch, alright? And you were being a bitch too, but it’s different. I was a bitch who needs a second paramedic to lift the stretcher bar onto the frame when it had someone on, you were a bitch who can bench press, like, two hundred pounds and can kick in a front door. Big men scare women, it’s just a fact.”

That didn’t seem to help, he only seemed to slump down a little further, and you sealed your lips into a thin line.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m not scared of you now. It’s just.. tense.” He sighed, reaching out and taking the glass of wine from your hands, before taking that to his mouth, and chugging a good half of the glass, before hanging it back, and grimacing a little.

“I hate wine.” You only laughed a little under your breath, the back of his hand travelling over his mouth as he wiped it clear. “I don’t want you to be scared of me, and it really sucks that you were, because I’d never hurt you. Or anyone, really.”

“It was more scary in an I’m-being-yelled-at-by-someone-twice-my-size way, not that I thought you’d ever.. do that..” You sighed, placing the bottle and the glass down on the counter, and leaning back against it, your head dropping to rest in your hands. “I fucked it all up again, already.”

You heard him move, the thought that he may just leave crossing over your mind, but fingers wrapped around your wrists, pulling them away from your face, and stepping back as your hand dropped to your side. He only stood a couple of feet from you, staring down at you with wide eyes that were full of nothing but sorrow, and you felt terrible for having put that emotion there in the first place.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin the night.”

“I’m sorry for yelling at you on the first day, and making you scared about working with me.” He shrugged, silence falling between you both again. “For the record, you are worth it.”

Your breath hitched in your lungs a little, the compliment meaning more to you than he could possibly know, yet he seemed to sense it, moving forwards by a fraction of an amount as he deemed it safe and acceptable to do so.

“I know what I said on that day was unfair, and you’ve proven me wrong, countless times.” A large hand found your shoulder, slipping down until he was squeezing at your forearm lightly, and there was a burn in the back of your throat threatening tears if you weren't careful. “You’re great at your job, and I think you’re a real asset to the team, and we’re lucky to have you.”

“Well, shit, now I feel bad for tricking you into saying you have a small dick.”

He laughed, loudly, and the sound you let out to match cracked a little bit, but it gave you a second’s reprieve to sniff away your emotions, choking them down as you tried to get it under control. “I got deep with you and that’s what you want to say?”

“I’m not good with the deep stuff!”

“Clearly!” He sighed, his hand dropping from your arm to wipe over his face as he looked more entertained than upset now, and you shrugged. “Okay, how about this. Let’s just start over, alright? You don’t need to feel tense around me, and I promise that you never have to worry about me hurting you. I wouldn’t do that.”

You paused, staring up at him, searching for any hint of a lie, before giving in, and raising your hand between your bodies. His palm slipped against your own, shaking it as though the pair of you were meeting for the first time, and he cracked a grin at the action. Your name fell from your lips, introducing yourself to him, and he followed suit, offering his name in return, and you felt like the past was truly being washed away this time, something you could let go of, watching it float away downstream in water under the bridge.

“Hey, you two gonna’ come join us for movie night, or are you going to spend the evening holding hands in the kitchen?”

Newt tapped his hands on the doorframe, a wicked grin on his face, and you were about to protest, before realising your hand was still clasped in Thomas’, and your mouth was dry as you found yourself at a loss for words. Dropping his hand, you grabbed at the bottle you’d left and the glass, deciding to just take both with you, and Thomas laughed a little as he followed behind, hand shifting to sit on your lower back as he fell into step behind you.

Newt flopped back down into his seat on the floor in front of the couch, and as you moved to navigate through the hoards filling the floors, a hand grabbed your wrist, bringing you to a halt, and you stumbled a little as Thomas crashed into you from the sudden pause, finding Brenda looking up at you with a grin and holding her glass out, half of the content missing.

The man beside you moved past, going to take his seat once again, and you topped her glass up, your own following, before clinking it against hers and grinning at the loud ‘cheers’ she let out as you did, before taking a sip to match her.

“Told you I’d have you converted over to wine in no time.”

“I chose this bottle, don’t you forget.” You winked, backing up a little bit as she settled back into the cushions, her shoulder pressing up to Minho’s side, and you smiled softly at the causal interaction between them both.

“Yeah, well, next time it’ll be me picking, and I’ll have you drinking the good stuff!”

You scoffed, knowing her insult in your taste was a joke, and probably well-founded, because you had no idea what ‘good wine’ consisted of, choosing instead to wander away and take your seat, trying not to spill your drink on anyone as you went.

Gally shuffled up the couch a little further as you approached, and Newt was blocking your seat, and when you nudged him with your toes, his only response was grinning up at you cheekily as he stretched his legs out in front of himself on the carpet; clearly a refusal to move as you were challenged with clambering past him to get to the cushions.

Thomas chuckled, holding his hands out for the bottle and the glass you held as he placed his own down on the table beside the end of the couch, what looked like whiskey in a tumbler, with a couple of half-melted ice-cubes floating in the liquid that matched the colour of his eyes. You handed them off to him, watching as he placed the bottle down on the counter, holding your glass in his other hand as one arm stretched out along the back of the couch, an amused look on his face as you tried to step past Newt.

Each time you lifted your foot up, blocking you off again, and you stumbled a little, trying to hold your balance and not fall into the crowded mass around the floor as you went, a collection of laughs beginning to bubble up as you became the centre of attention. Chuck was fiddling with the remotes on the TV, and Gally had offered a stabilising hand out to you, the fingers of one of your hands was wrapped around his forearm as you giggled, trying to simply sit down.

“You gonna’ take a seat so we can watch, or are you just going to stand there?”

You glared at Newt, unable to hold the smile off of your face for long, before you were bursting with giggles once again, almost falling, and clinging to Gally for support. “Well, if someone would get out of my way, I’d be able to!”

“I’m not doing anything!” Your blond partner insisted, crossing his arms over his chest and sitting back down normally without blocking any space off, and you thought you’d finally get away with it, and you lifted a leg to step over him and try and fold a leg against the cushions to sit down. Once you were balanced on one foot, though, he acted, raising up to pinch at the back of your knee, the leg still on the floor going weak, and you fell.

You toppled forwards, half landing against Gally and half in the cushions as you tried to swerve, a yelp being cut off as you hit the couch, and he continued to pinch at your leg, making you jerk the limb away from him and crawl up the couch, snatching it back from him as the contact tickled, until your back was pressed to Thomas’ side and you were kicking at Newt’s hand, the laughter in the room fading away as you swiped at your friend.

“There we go, now was that so hard?”

“You are the devil, Newt.” You hissed, lunging for him a little as he stuck his tongue out at you playfully, and you placed a hand behind you, one pushing on the couch cushions, the other on Thomas’ knee as you pushed forwards, an arm wrapping around your waist to hold you backwards as Newt cracked up, and your own laughter came bubbling up.

Yanked back down into your seat, Thomas slipped his arm free, letting it spread back out along the couch, and handing you the glass of wine. Your face was flushed with warmth, energy fizzling through you, and you took a sip, cooling yourself with the cold drink. You mumbled your thanks to Gally for his support, the opening credits of the movie loading up, and you settled back, still slightly pressed into the side of your new allegiance as you tried to catch your breath.

Stretching out a little, your leg fell over Newt’s shoulder, crooking at the knee, and he reached a hand up to sit on your ankle, squeezing a little in comfort before the room was falling quiet, Minho dimming the lights down, and Chuck began to explain the movie he was watching.

Your heart was still racing, and yet you’d never felt more comfortable. There was no bad energy in the room, you didn’t feel uncomfortable with Thomas sitting beside you, you didn’t feel excluded or left out, you simply felt loved and accepted. For the first time in your life, you truly felt like you belonged.

#thomas #firefighter!tommy #thomas x reader #thomas/reader #smoke and fire #SAF #tomuary #tommy month #tom-uary #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien thomas #dylan obrien the maze runner #thomas the maze runner #thomas tmr

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mydekuacademia · 4 years ago

Note

Hey HAPPY BIRTHDAY!🎉🎉 I see you wanted requests! Anyway a fluff request where todoroki’s sister (if you want to make it Gn it can just be his sibling) is mutual pinning over bakugou, but he keeps denying it cause he’s rivals with shouto and it’d be fretenizing with the enemy if he gets with them. Fluffy end them getting together🤗💗

Heck yeah! I went with a female reader since i usually do gn. Reader and shouto are in the same class, but i didnt specify if theyre twins or just very close in age. Up to you :)

Warning: mentions of abuse, Shouto being a bit of a butt, cussing cuz bakugou lol

Admitting Defeat

"No."

You glared at your brother, arms crossed over your chest. "Shouto, I-"

"No."

You sighed and shook your head. Stubbornness may run in the family, but that didn't mean you tolerated it.

"Listen, Shou. I won't deny I'm attracted to him, but he doesn't feel the same. You have nothing to worry about. I can't be with someone who isn't attracted to me. So chill," you bit out.

Your brother closed his eyes and sighed. "He obviously is attracted to you as well, (y/n). And I refuse to let my sister date someone like Bakugou."

"Who says you get any say in who I date? You don't run my life!" This was getting ridiculous. You loved your brother to death, but he was overreacting to a non-existent situation.

Shouto gripped your shoulders. "You only like him because you find comfort in the familiarity of his harsh words," he said sharply. "Our father made you think that was love. It isn't. You can do so much better than him, (y/n)."

At the mention of your father, your eyes burned and fogged over with tears. "That's not true, Shouto," you whimpered. "He's not Endeavor. You know that." With a sniffle, you shrugged your brother's hands off of you and took a step back. Guilt marred his expression, but the damage was done. You turned and ran towards the dorms.

---Meanwhile in the common room---

Oh, he was going to lose his shit. They just kept talking to him about stupid shit and wouldn't shut up. He swore to any god out there that if the name Todoroki (Y/n) left any of their mouths one more time, he would blow up the entire building.

"Listen bro, I'm just saying that you two would make a great couple!" Kirishima said with a toothy grin. "Besides, it's clear you like her."

"Tch. How could I possibly like the sister of that icy-hot bastard? She's probably just like him."

Kaminari frowned. "Dude, you know she has her own personality, right? She isn't her brother."

Bakugou scowled deeply at the blonde. "Dumbass, of course I know that."

"Then ask her out! She clearly likes you too!"

Why couldn't these idiots have left him alone to do his homework in peace?

He couldn't deny how pretty he thought she was. And the way she used her quirk was elegant and dangerous at the same time, much like the subzero ice it produced. And she was always able to ground him through his anger unlike anyone else. And he loves hearing her talk. And-

"No."

And she was the sister of his rival. Conceding to his attraction to her would be like admitting defeat, and Bakugou never admits defeat. Not even for (y/n).

Kirishima and Kaminari groaned and threw their heads back in exasperation. Right as Kaminari openes his mouth to complain, the door to the building swung open, and in stormed a very distraught, red-eyed (y/n).

Resilience be damned, Bakugou jumped up and rushed to your side, placing a warm hand on your upper arm. "What happened?"

You could only shake your head and squeeze your eyes shut, lest any stray tears escape. Before Bakugou could think about how he'd literally just said he wanted nothing to do with you, he tugged you into a hug. One arm wrapped around your waist, and his other hand rested on the back of your head, pressing your face into his shoulder. Your fingers curled into his shirt on his back, and you hung on tightly.

"What happened?" he asked again, speaking lowly right next to your ear.

You sniffled. "He- he brought up our father, and..." You couldn't continue. It wasn't so much that bad memories were getting to you, rather that you were livid at the implication that your friend and crush could possibly as bad as him. You were angry on Bakugou's behalf, and at your brother's lack of trust in your judgement.

Of course, Bakugou knew some of your family's tumultuous history due to overhearing Shouto's conversation with Midoriya, so he understood that your father was a touchy subject. He grumbled at hearing that someone dared mention your father to you and hugged you tighter. Feeling uncharacteristically kind, he hugged you tighter and ran a hand through your hair. Oh, he was going to kill whoever did this to you. He just had to find out who it was first.

As it turned out, he didn't have to look far. Right at that moment, the door slammed open yet again, revealing a frantic-looking Shouto.

"(Y/n)!"

You curled further into Bakugou at the sound of your brother's voice. Ah, so that bastard was the culprit. Bakugou rotated so you were slightly behind him and glared over his shoulder at your brother.

Shouto's eyes widened considerably, and he backed down. You were clearly in good hands. Maybe he was wrong about the blonde...

Bakugou backed out of the hug and tugged you by the hand to his dorm, where he sat you down at his desk and gave you one of the water bottles he had stashed in his mini fridge. When you calmed down, Bakugou sat on his bed and crossed his arms.

"Tell me what happened."

Yoir face burned, but you knew you owed it to him to tell him how you ended up in this situation. You gulped and looked at your lap before explaining everything. You couldn't bear to look at him, afraid he'd be mad and kick you out of his room.

"Tch. Dumbass icy-hot bastard. I'm nothing like that piece of shit," he grumbled. You nodded in response.

"I know."

"Date me and we'll prove to him that you have good judgement."

Your head shot up, cheeks flaming. "You- what?" you squeaked.

"You heard me." He seemed unshaken, staring you in the eyes. "I like you, and you obviously like me. And this way, we can be happy together and make a fool out of your brother."

You giggled shyly. "I don't know about making a fool out of Shouto, but...okay."

"Good. Now get over here," he demanded, lifting his arm out to his side. You slid off his chair and into his side, cuddling into him.

After a pleasant evening and a difficult conversation with your brother, you couldn't be happier.

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #todoroki shouto #boku no hero academia #bnha #bnha x reader #my hero academia #mha #mha x reader

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scullydubois · 4 years ago

Text

Only the Light Ch. 18

Scully, Mulder, and Missy travel to California to meet Emily and wrestle with the future.

------------------

The echo of Scully’s heels against the linoleum is almost enough to drown out her racing heart. Mulder’s thumping steps and her sister’s daintier ones help too, but their collective power does nothing to ease Scully’s awareness that the Earth circles the sun at a thousand miles per hour. Today, she’s feeling every bit of it.

The three of them round a corner, and a broad-shouldered man and tiny-waisted woman come into view. Agent Feniston and the lawyer, this must be. Outside of conference room C--as planned.

Straightening every disc in her spine, Scully extends a hand and exchanges a firm shake with each of them. Mulder and Melissa hang back.

“Dana Scully,” she declares. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“That decision rested with the foster parents,” the male agent insists. “As does any from this point forward.”

“Yes, and I’ll be sure to thank them as well,” Scully acquiesces.

“Hello, Ms. Scully.” The lawyer uncrosses her ankles. “I’m Tanya Joyce, you can call me Tanya. As a representative of the state of California, my priority is guarding the child’s wellbeing and ensuring that any choice made is what’s best for her.”

“Of course,” Scully murmurs. “Thank you for being here.”

Tanya thumbs toward the closed door of the conference room. “Brian and Cecily are eager to meet you. The foster system has extremely limited information on little Emily. Your testimony will help us all fill in some blanks.”

Scully nods. “Me as well...this is as much a surprise for me as all of you.”

“Are we to understand that you were not aware you bore a child, Ms. Scully?” Agent Feniston asks.

“Yes, sir. I know it’s quite hard to believe, I feel the same. I was missing for a period of time last year and was comatose when I returned.”

“Yes, and how long was that period of time, Ms. Scully?”

The edges of her lips fall. “Approximately five weeks.”

“So is it safe to assume that though the child shares your DNA, you did not carry her?”

“No sir, not that I know of. I believe that my eggs were harvested, and she was...well, she comes from one of those.”

The agent hums a note of acknowledgement. “As I told you over the phone, the federal database contained no viable DNA match of a father.”

Scully nods. “Yes sir, and I have no knowledge of what sperm may have been used.”

“Noted.” He rubs his neck. “We were lucky, we only found you because you were in the missing persons database.”

“I had no idea I was still listed there,” Scully says. “I’ve asked the FBI to remove it.”

“Well, it was a stroke of luck for us,” the agent tells her. “This little girl’s foster parents encouraged the state to pursue child abandonment charges against whoever left her. She was found outside a local care center at two weeks old, as I’ve told you.”

“Yes.” Scully purses her lips. She imagines a baby with her eyes, nose, toes, chromosomes crying on a nondescript doorstep...she and Mulder did not know what they were doing when they said they wanted the truth.

“We’ve already confirmed your story with the FBI,” Feniston continues, “and we have proof that you were working on cases in the east at the time of Emily’s delivery to the foster center, so you are free of any child abandonment charges.”

“Wonderful,” Scully replies, but really, those were the least of her concerns. “May I see my daughter now?”

That’s the first time she’s ever said that sentence, and she didn’t expect terror to shoot up her spine. Is this what it is, having an extension of your life outside your body?

The lawyer steps forward. “I’ll introduce you to Brian and Cecily, they’d like to speak with you first.”

Scully does not like the way that sits in the air. Still, she musters a smile. “It would be my pleasure.”

---------------------------

Mulder and Melissa make themselves at home on a pair of leather chairs outside the conference room. They have been the pall-bearers keeping Scully aloft as her crushed dreams reinvent themselves as high hopes. They don’t understand how it happened any more than Scully herself: one phone call turned into multiple consultations with Agent Feniston, then Tanya and California Social Services and finally, DC social workers who performed background checks and prepared forms so that Scully could come here today to meet her baby and, God-willing, bring her home.

It doesn’t happen this fast, it never does--different voices said these same words to them a dozen times. And yet, barely two weeks after Agent Feniston’s fated voicemail, here they are. On All Hallow’s Eve, no less. Just in time for Emily to complete her first rotation around the sun.

They both play contrasting yet crucial roles in Operation Miracle Baby, as Mulder dubbed it. Dana has sobbed into Missy’s shoulder every night for the past two weeks; happy tears (her baby! she has a baby!), sad tears (she has a baby…and she didn’t even know...), scared tears (a baby! a baby, Missy! probably already walking, and maybe even talking if she’s exceptional...). The situation--and its implications--are impossible to reconcile in such a short time, if at all. Scully’s petite frame could not physically contain it.

Mulder’s the comic relief, the distraction, the reminder that nothing can be so grave if there's still breath left in your body. He bought a CD of nursery rhymes and stuck in it his beat-up office radio, playing it through the day while Scully labored over this form or that and he pretended to alphabetize the case file drawer. Now, he hums himself to sleep every night with one of those rhymes; he’s hoping this new skill will come in handy.

He would’ve bought toys and baby clothes too, but Melissa made him swear not to in case the adoption falls through. And she’s right, he can’t bear to imagine the pain Scully would feel packing those away. For sale: baby shoes, never worn hits you no matter who you are. Still, he has a stuffed UFO and a Build-a-Bear fox (yes, he went in and filled it himself) hidden in his closet, and he hopes they won’t go to waste.

Operation Miracle Baby has been as covert as anything Mulder’s ever been involved in. He, Melissa, and Mrs. Scully are the only ones in his partner’s circle with any knowledge of what’s going on. No one else, in Scully’s words, matters. Trinity too has received a full briefing from Missy and is ecstatic about her girlfriend potentially becoming an auntie. Skinner was told it was a family emergency--and well, it is--though surely he’s suspicious about both of his agents requesting time off. Bill Jr. has no idea they’re in San Diego, though they may seek “refuge” (the air quotes are Missy’s) at his place if the proceedings drag on.

This is a triumph or failure to be shared only with those most beloved, that’s what Scully said to them the night before they boarded the plane. Mulder has never been included in anyone’s most beloved before. It feels pretty damn good.

----------------------

The perky lawyer raps on the conference room door, opening it in response to a voice on the other side. Scully’s breath catches….a strawberry-haired infant rests in her mother’s arms (Scully hates to think it, but surely this woman is more Emily’s mother than she is), pulling at a lock of the woman’s blonde hair.

The woman turns her way, and Scully gets her first glimpse at Emily’s face. Emily. Her baby. She wondered the whole flight here whether she would feel a connection….a sense of recognition...upon laying eyes on her daughter. And my god, it’s like some chained section of her heart has burst open, flooded with all the good feelings of the world. Icy blue eyes and cherub cheeks...that’s her baby. That’s her baby.

She watches as her baby is passed to a woman in a CA Social Services button-up who slides past Scully in the doorway like she’s not even there. Scully has a split-second to notice the dimples on her daughter’s cheeks, but that’s it. Emily’s gaze misses her entirely.

Tanya strides toward the couple in the room, Scully following behind.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lace, this is Dana Scully, Emily’s biological mother.”

“We’re so glad to meet you,” the man says, shaking Scully’s hand with a firm grip. “I’m Brian, and this is my wife Cecily.”

“Thank you for speaking with me,” Scully tells them, shaking Cecily’s hand in kind. “I understand you’ve cared for Emily since shortly after she arrived at social services.”

“Yes,” Cecily confirms. “She came to us when she was a month old. Raising her has been an absolute joy.”

Brian nods. “She’s the second infant we’ve fostered. We adopted our first one, Andrew, when he was a year and a half.”

“I didn’t realize you had another child,” Scully converses, feeling out of her depth. “It must have been quite a transition, taking Emily in.”

“It sure was, but she’s an angel, truly,” Brian says. “We couldn't fathom that someone could abandon her and get away with it, that’s why we contacted Agent Feniston.”

Cecily chimes in--”We were told the chances of finding a DNA match in the federal database was slim. We didn’t expect to learn that you were unaware of Emily’s existence!”

“Yes, I’m still coming to terms with it all,” Scully replies. “I’m grateful that you’ve given me the opportunity to see her, at the very least.”

“When we heard your story, we knew it would be heinous of us to say no,” Cecily says, offering a sympathetic smile.

“You’re an FBI agent, did we hear that right?” Brain asks.

“Yes sir, I’ve been with the Bureau five years now.”

“You live in DC?”

Scully nods. “Around the corner from the National Mall.”

“That’s exciting!” Cecily pipes up. “How did you find yourself having Emily in San Diego?”

“I actually have no idea, Mrs. Lace,” Scully murmurs. “My family lived here when I was young, but I haven’t been back since. Coincidentally, my brother lives not too far off.”

“Wow,” Cecily gasps. “They weren’t kidding about you being a missing person.”

“No ma’am.” She went from a missing person to missing a person. No wonder she’s spent the past year feeling so empty.

-----------------------------

Mulder and Melissa get only the slightest moment to catch their breath before a child that is unmistakably the progeny of Dana Scully is carried into the lobby. Her hair curls around her ears in a cute mushroom top, her tongue dancing in her mouth like it has a mind of its own. They stare; they know better, but fuck it, if any baby is worth staring at, it’s this one.

“Is that--?” Mulder whispers.

“Yeah,” Missy breathes.

They’ve both seen the pictures, they are well aware that it’s her. They say these things for the awe of it.

“She’s…” Mulder’s eyes are wide. “She’s bigger than I thought she would be. Not fat, I mean. Just...a whole tiny human.”

“She is, isn’t she?” Melissa smiles at her niece, who is now seated on her caretaker’s lap across the hallway. Emily’s big eyes blink at her, containing silent judgements. How like her mother she is.

Missy elbows Mulder. “I bet she orders mushroom pizza and then picks the mushrooms off because apparently ‘the cheese tastes better than on the regular cheese pizza,’” she muses, naming one of her sister’s quirks.

Mulder likes this game. “I bet she vehemently denies the existence of extraterrestrials only to secretly believe that her dashing partner is right,” he offers.

Missy smirks. “I bet she would find this game very stupid if she understood it.”

“I’m all in on that one.” Mulder mimes pushing a pile of poker chips into the center of a table.

Missy laughs, looks toward her seat partner with soft eyes. “She’s gonna be a great mom, isn’t she? Dana, I mean?”

“Oh yeah.” Mulder clasps his hands in his lap. “We should be so lucky to have a little Scully in the world.”

“Mm-hm.” Missy focuses on his face, watching for the slightest move that might give his thoughts away. “And she’ll be able to do it alone, do you think?”

“Well, I’m sure she’ll need some help from Mrs. Scully, and you, and…” he trails off before adding his own name, but Missy’s mind fills it in reflexively. “She’ll need help,” Mulder finishes, “but yeah, she’ll be incredible.”

The details have already been parsed out. As a single mother, Scully is required to list a guardian who would take custody of Emily if something were to happen to her. She listed her mother as the primary one--the social worker told her it’s best if it’s someone who has child-rearing experience--and Missy as the secondary guardian. She would, after all, already live in the child’s household.

Then there was the matter of the job--its extensive time requirements, travelling, and danger level were all of concern to the agency. This came as no surprise to Scully; a single female FBI agent does not make the ideal adoption candidate. And though she hasn’t yet spoken to the Bureau, Mulder has promised her they’ll work something out. It can be like your leave of absence, he assured her. You tackle the paper trail and I’ll focus on following the suspect’s trail. Easy-peasy.

That’s what he says to her, though he’s terrified of losing her as his partner...Of her being reassigned to something simpler or leaving the Bureau entirely. She could teach at Quantico, that schedule would be a hell of a lot easier than running on Mulder time. Agent Scully can pack for hastily-booked flights at midnight then catch them at 7am, but Emily’s mother couldn’t. He will have to reckon with this if all the pieces fall into their graceful place. He’ll have to figure out how to rearrange their partnership for her, or even worse, how to live without her as his partner. Or maybe even at all.

---------------------------

Scully glances at her shoes, then summons the courage to meet Mrs. Lace’s hazel eyes. “I hope you will consider my request. I know it’s not up to you entirely--the court will have the final say--but my abduction experience has left me unable to have a biological child, so learning of Emily was truly a miracle of the highest order.”

Her voice clips as she takes a breath. “I understand that it would be a huge sacrifice on the part of your family, and that you’ve developed a bond with Emily over the past eleven months. I just ask you both to please...think about it.” Tears twinkle in her eyes. She made it, thank god, she made it without breaking down! She’s rehearsed that speech ten times over.

Cecily lays a hand on her husband’s arm. “Of course, Dana. It would be a painful sacrifice to us, you’re correct, but we understand that you’ve flown across the country to be here, and that you’ve brought witnesses to testify to your character, so your commitment is clear. We’ll listen and make as compassionate a decision as possible.”

Scully’s lips creep into a smile. “Thank you. I appreciate that.” She steps back, the weight of imminent sobs settling over her chest.

“Ms. Scully has already undergone most of the requirements needed for adoption,” the lawyer tells Mr. and Mrs. Lace. “Medical clearance, psychiatric clearance, criminal background check, and home study. In the spirit of her unique circumstances, California and the District of Columbia have agreed to cooperate to make the process as smooth and expedient as possible, if you should choose to surrender Emily to her. I don’t mean to sway your decision in any way, just to give you all the available information.”

The couple nods. “Thank you, Tanya,” Cecily answers. “We’d like to speak with the first witness now.”

Scully balks. She expected more questions, a barrage of them, as intense and prying as if she were testifying in front of Congress. And she was ready for that--she was prepared to do whatever they asked of her, to show that there are no lengths she wouldn’t go for Emily. She’s already documented every detail of her life for social services and given over the necessary specimens to prove that no, she’s not a drug user, and yes, her thyroid is hyperactive, but she takes medication for that and her doctor will confirm that it’s under control.

And if they wanted to know more, she’d tell them. She’d tell it all. Her deepest, darkest secret (telling Daniel that yes, he should leave his wife & kids...all for her, to be with her), the most petty thing that haunts her (stolen cigarettes, smoked on the family porch at 1am), what she wants to say most but can’t (I love you)...a part of her was taken to create Emily. She would give the rest away to keep her.

There was a moment, in one of the drab little interrogation rooms at DC social services, where Scully was met with a question that lunged toward her like a time-bomb. Pull the fuse, pull the fuse it taunted her. See what happens. Instead, she played it off. Pretended she didn’t hear its doomed tick. Feigned none the wiser. No, she isn’t aware of any potential medical condition that would inhibit her life expectancy or ability to care for a child, she told the nice woman. Thank god they got the chip out of her neck before it showed up on any x-rays.

She snaps back to reality, watching as the conference door opens, and her sister enters the room.

“Thank you, Dana,” Tanya says, and she assumes that’s the lawyer’s way of telling her to get out, so she does. Outside the room, she settles next to Mulder in a seat that’s still warm.

“How’d it go in there, champ?” he chatters. “You need some water or anything?”

Scully’s not listening. Her eyes are trained on the baby girl across the way with hair too auburn to be brunette that’ll require a smattering of box dye every two weeks to qualify her as a soulless ginger.

Emily’s eyes land on the woman she does not know is her mother, studying this new face with an infant’s usual curiosity. Mulder has realized by now that the little girl is of much more interest to his partner than he is, and he watches as mother and daughter wave to each other.

Scully lets out a laugh so strangled that for a moment Mulder thinks it’s a cry and jumps to comfort her. He relaxes back into his seat once he sees the joy on her face.

“She’s a sweetheart, huh?” Mulder wisecracks as the young girl jams her fingers into her mouth.

Scully beams. “She’s a baby, that’s her way of learning the world!”

“Hey, I’m not knocking it. That’s my personal preference as well,” he says with a lop-sided smile.

“Yeah, well, she’s not licking evidence,” Scully quips.

Mulder shrugs. “A man can’t help his oral fixation. Haven’t you ever heard of Freud…?” he lets it slide off his tongue.

Scully rolls her eyes. His inability to maintain an appropriate manner is nothing if not inspiring.

She gestures toward Emily. “You’re already encouraging bad behavior. Tsk-tsk,” she teases.

“That’s my job as--hey, wait. What’s she gonna call me?” If you get custody, of course passes silently between them.

“I don’t know, Mulder,” Scully says, watching her daughter out of the corner of her eye. “I hadn’t really thought about it.” That’s a lie. She’s sat up during the night trying to decipher Mulder’s relation to Emily. He would certainly be the male authority in her life, but that doesn’t make him a father figure. Right?

Scully adored her father because he was the head of the family, and he embraced the responsibility, always making sure they had what they needed. While her mother was often the one doing the grunt work of caring for them, her father provided for them. His long deployments with the Navy protected them. Scully understood his sacrifice and loved him for it

That’s not how it would go with Emily. If she were so lucky as to get the child, Scully would be the caretaker and the provider. A two-in-one deal with a high price. What would that mean, for Emily? Scully could do it, she believes that. Not that it would be anything less than utterly exhausting, but with a little help from her mother and her sister, she could make do, and they say it takes a village to raise a child anyway, so what’s so bad about that?

Since she’s filling those roles herself, that leaves...well, Mulder could be the fun uncle, that fits him. Bill Jr. isn’t gonna cut it, and neither is Charlie, considering that he’s god knows where. Besides, it’s unlikely that Mulder will get a chance to know a biological niece or nephew. He and Emily could fill missing pieces in each other’s lives.

Scully’s eyes trace the contours of her partner’s face. “Do you have a preference about what she calls you?”

“I was hoping for His Royal Highness Fox Mulder of Martha’s Vineyard--is that too much?”

Scully lets a strand of hair fall over her face. “It might take her awhile to get her tongue around that.”

“Or it’ll speed up her speech acquisition,” Mulder replies.

“Oh, you’re a child-rearing connoisseur now?”

Mulder twiddles his thumbs. “It is my goal to raise the first kid to transcribe canine language into English.”

“Really? I wasn’t aware of that,” Scully tells him, a smile flitting on her lips. It’s this kind of banter that keeps her sane. A few minutes out here with him, and she’s forgotten that what happens in that conference room will dictate the rest of her life.

Across the hallway, Emily giggles at the air, and it fits, doesn’t it? Here she is, already laughing at Mulder’s jokes like the Scully girl she is.

------------------------------

It feels like a prisoner exchange when witness number one in their civil-that-sure-feels-like-a-criminal case joins Scully back in the hallway, and Mulder is called forward “to the stand.” He swears he found a penny in the parking lot this morning & promises to bring back good news. Scully’s pretty sure he made that story up, but she’s no less hopeful that it’ll come true.

Returned from her brief stint in captivity, Missy dives right into a discussion of her niece: “Look at her, Dana, she looks just like you!”

“Well, she does have fifty percent of my DNA,” Scully concedes with an admiring glance at the little girl.

“Have you gone over to see her?”

Scully shakes her head. “I didn’t think that would be proper.”

“Are you kidding me?” Missy retorts. “First of all, Brian and Cecily are very nice people, and I’m not supposed to say this, but I think there’s a chance that Emily will be yours. Secondly, this could be your only opportunity to interact with your daughter and you’re not gonna take it?”

Scully bites her lip. Her sister knows how to craft an argument. “Alright, but you have to back me up.”

“Trust me, I wanna see her just as badly as you.”

Scully steels herself, then approaches the woman in the polo shirt. “Hello.” She does a polite half-wave, which she’s never done before and which makes her feel ridiculous. “I’m the potential adoptee, and I was wondering if I could say hello to this precious little girl.” It all feels completely out of character, like she’s reading lines from a script. But this is it, this is her reality.

The woman’s face offers little in the way of recognition. “You can have a supervised visit with her, yes,” she recites, as rehearsed as Scully.

“Great.” Scully claps her hands together. “May I take her to my sister right over there?”

The woman nods. Scully lays her hands on Emily’s waist and lifts the girl gently from the woman’s lap. She is heavier than Scully imagined, or maybe just heavier than she hoped. Every ounce is a reminder of unseen existence and unwitnessed growth.

Emily does not balk, just stares up at her mother with those probing eyes.

“Hi baby girl,” Scully coos to her daughter as she settles her against her hip. “Can you say hi? Have you got that one yet?”

The girl blinks. “Ma-ma.”

Scully crooks her neck, tries to reign in her racing imagination. All babies do this at this age, don’t they? Calling every woman mama and every man dada. Emily’s no exception. And yet...for that to be the first word her daughter has ever said to her. God winked at her, and she’s glad to have caught it.

The pair makes it to Missy, who blows a kiss in Emily’s direction. “Hey there little one.” She extends her index finger, and the girl latches onto it.

Scully cradles her baby’s head, Emily’s fine hair soft beneath her fingers.

“She’s even-keeled for a baby,” Missy remarks, wiggling her finger and watching Emily crack a smile.

“Yes,” Scully gurgles out of the sheer joy. She settles into her chair with Emily in her lap. “Do you know what she said to me?”

Missy looks up. “What?”

“Mama.” Scully dons a triumphant grin. “She called me mama.”

“Oh, no way!” Missy squeals. It’s a bit too loud and sudden, making Emily jump. The ladies laugh, and Scully pulls her daughter in closer, kissing the crown of her head. She still has that baby smell; the freshness of new life and all its purity. Scully sighs. It must have been even stronger when she was born.

Scully closes her eyes. If she had one chance to pause life somewhere along the way, to linger in a perfect moment longer, she would do it right now and she would never regret it.

“My baby…” she breathes into Emily’s ear, hoping it will stick. That one day she’ll remember and find her way home, should she need to.

A warm tear slides down Scully’s cheek and lands in Emily’s lap, a dark drop on the girl’s corduroy pants. “Mama loves you, Emily.” She tightens her embrace. “That’s me,” she sniffs. “I love you, Emily.”

Observing this, Missy feels that she is an interloper and slips off to the bathroom, leaving mother and baby to have their moment.

Scully strokes the girl’s tiny palm with her thumb. She has missed so much already, and my god, she could miss so much more. What is love, if not sacrifice? Hadn’t that been the takeaway from each week of Sunday school?

The conference door opens, and Scully finds herself irritated that life has failed to pause. Oh, what wouldn’t she do to take the reins from God, even for a moment? She looks up at Mulder, doe-eyed as he processes the optical illusion that is Emily and her mother. Said mother sees the tenderness on Mulder’s face as he comes to terms with this sight, and something in both of them breaks, and something else opens.

Mulder approaches quietly, apprehensive about ruining the moment. Little does he know, he’s not ruining it; he’s completing it.

“Hey,” Scully swoons. “How was it?”

He’s too earnest to crack a joke right now. “Less nerve-wracking than I expected,” he murmurs. “Brain and Cecily are good people.”

Scully can’t help but wonder if they’re hammering this point about Brian and Cecily to make her feel better when the gavel falls in their direction. Mulder directs her train of thought away from this when he kneels in front of Emily. His eyes are as soupy as ever, Scully notices; she could sink right into them.

“May I?”

Scully chuckles under her breath, like a stranger has just asked if they could pet her dog. “Of course, Mulder. Say hi.”

Over the past weeks, Mulder spent considerable time anticipating this initial interaction. First impressions are important, after all, and there is no one he has wanted to impress more than this sweet girl. Ultimately, he decided that he didn’t care what their meeting was, as long as it would be. And now that he’s here, knelt in front of his two favorite girls, he’s ready to make a promise.

He envelops Emily’s closed fist with one hand and uses the other to caress Scully’s palm. “I want you to know,” he begins, shifting his gaze between mother and daughter, “that I’ll always be here for you.”

He looks to Scully, realizing that Emily is unable to comprehend what he is saying. “Regardless of Brian and Cecily’s choice, I am prepared to make every sacrifice so that you two can be a family. The family you deserve to be. I know what it’s like to not have that, and christ, Scully, I’m not letting you go through that. You’ve had enough for one lifetime.”

Scully’s face puckers. She is moved on a dimension that transcends the spiritual, if such a thing is possible. She closes her eyes, lets the tears slip out, then softens her focus on him.

“Thank you, Mulder...Fox,” she effuses, needing to heighten the intimacy. “Emily and I…” she kisses her daughter’s temple again. “Well, you know. You already know.” Her voice is somber almost, reminiscent of a wedding vow’s binding utterance.

Mulder smiles up at them, pats Scully’s hand. “I know. Me too.”

There are many phrases that could fill her blank, but he chose his favorite, and he’s got an inkling that he’s right.

Scully sucks in a breath, and it’s the first one that has ever counted. Earth is new to her, again.

The door opens a second time, and the lawyer approaches with Brian and Cecily behind her.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lace would like to take some time to think about their decision,” Tanya announces. “You will understand, they hope…?”

Scully nods, swallowing back a lump in her throat. She would like to break into a tantrum, throwing chairs and screeching every obscenity she knows. Begging please, please, don’t let me miss another heartbeat. Let me live in this Heaven I’ve found. But no answer is better than an immediate rejection, so she screws her lips into a smile and gives away two more handshakes.

“Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Lace. I’m grateful for this opportunity.”

#you guysss i have been excited for this chapter since day one!!!#it only gets more emotional from here ahhhh #hope you enjoy <3 #i am hugging anyone who reads this #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #the x-files #txf fic #txf #fox mulder #dana scully #melissa scully #mine

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booksimp · 4 years ago

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Flame of Autumn - Part One

Midnight at Rita’s

A/N: My first attempt at writing smut! Let me know what you think :) Also, sorry it’s a bit late. This scene took on a mind of it’s own & ended up being wayy longer than originally intended.

I’ve felt his attention on me all night, like a physical touch. Mysterious hazel eyes monitor my every move, from the rotation of my hips to the way I throw my head back in celebration when I laugh. For a while, I pretend not to notice. But he is not the kind of male you ignore. I blame what happens next on a mixture of drinking and dancing, and the encouragement of my friends. Instead of hurriedly looking away and disappearing into the crowd, becoming a wallflower like I usually would, I meet his eyes. The unabashed appreciation there surprises me. That look sends electricity sizzling through my blood, waking my body in a way no one has in a long time. So I decide to dance for him.

A small smirk plays on his full mouth, dark eyes glinting as I run my hands along my body, through my hair, putting on a show meant only for him. He leans back in his booth, the picture of male satisfaction, and raises an eyebrow appreciatively. Keep going. Heat scorches across my skin at that smirk, and I can’t help but picture his lips in wicked places.

His face is elegant, classically handsome in every way. If it weren’t for the tattoos, scars, and diaphanous shadows swirling around him, I’d even say he was pretty. There’s an enthralling lethalness to him that acts like his own gravitational pull, completely captivating me. I always did love a bad boy.

I spin and twirl, the silk of my dress flaring in a halo of midnight blue. I move for him until sweat runs down my bare back, and glistens in the hollow of my throat. And he keeps watching me, until the smirks and wandering eyes have me desperate for more than just his gaze. The rest of the club has melted away, leaving just us.

I look at him from beneath lowered lashes, a question in my eyes. Are you just going to watch all night, or actually dance with me? He’s outright grinning now, his eyes on my exposed thighs. He shrugs, and relaxes further into his seat. Why rush things? I quite like the view from here. I sigh, wrinkling my nose in frustration and flipping my hair over my shoulder. He smirks again, and twirls his finger. Spin for me.

I do just that, the pleasure of following his direction like honey in my veins. I don’t even know this male, and yet I can’t help but do what he wishes. He’s the kind of otherworldly gorgeous that's utterly unattainable. Tousled raven hair, bedroom eyes, exceedingly tall, and a body that would make the gods weep. And Cauldron above, those wings.

I keep turning in place, hips swaying and hands in my hair. I feel the exact moment he glimpses my naked back, covered in sapphire blue tattoos that perfectly match my dress. I found this gown in the palace of thread and jewels, and the shop owner would not let me leave without it.

I’m endlessly grateful for her sage counsel when I glance over my shoulder to catch the males reaction. He knocks back the rest of his drink and rises to his feet, dark eyes devouring every inch of my bare skin. My breath catches in my throat as he slowly makes his way across the bar, until he’s standing mere inches from me.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re an incredible dancer?”

His voice is startlingly deep, and smooth as velvet. It takes me longer than it should to formulate a coherent response.

“I- no. No, just you.” Well, not entirely coherent.

He smiles anyway, dimples appearing in his cheeks. Gods above, dimples too? The male leans close to whisper in my ear, and his scent hits me. Cedar and moonlight, rain on the pavement. I can’t help but inhale deeply.

“I’m Azriel. May I have this dance?”

I can only nod, his proximity scattering any intelligent thoughts in my head. He places one scarred hand on my back, the other on my hip, and we begin to sway with the music, our bodies pressed together intimately. My skin smolders beneath his touch, stoking the molten fire he’s awakened in me.

“I’m Sabine.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sabine.”

From the intensity of his gaze, I know he can scent every reaction my body has to him. I lock my eyes on his as he trails a finger from my cheek, down my neck, and back again. I gasp when he leans down to press a kiss to the point where my neck and shoulder join, a throbbing starting in my core as he gently bites down. A small, involuntary moan leaves my mouth. Azriel chuckles darkly against my skin.

“Did you like dancing for me, love?”

He inquires, voice soft as he tightens his arms around me. I let my head fall back, exposing more of my neck for him to explore. He obliges by trailing hot kisses up my throat, and nibbling on the shell of my ear.

“Y-yes.” I gasp, heat rushing up my neck to fill my cheeks.

Azriel growls low in his chest, and I can’t help but notice a considerable length pressing against my thigh.

“I’m going to make you say ‘yes’ just like that, all night long.”

I shiver in his arms, finally opening my eyes to see his have gone completely black with arousal. There’s a promise in them that has my knees going weak. His reaction to me inspires a sudden boldness.

“Then take me somewhere I don’t have to be quiet, Azriel.” I murmur, biting my lip and hesitantly stroking a hand down his chest.

A confident, male smile graces his lips. Without a word, he turns and leads me out the back door. His hand is rough and calloused on mine as we hurry down the streets of Velaris, a fact that only makes me want him more. I can only imagine how they’d feel between my legs.

Azriel leads me into a luxury apartment building, and we cross the marble floored lobby to the elevators. The doors take their sweet time closing, and as we wait, he admires me from the far wall. Hands in his pockets and smirk on his face.

“When we get to my apartment, I want you to undress for me. Can you do that, baby?” He leaves no room for argument as the doors finally close, and he moves slowly towards me. A lion, hunting his prey.

And I am eager to be caught.

“Yes.”

As he stands before me, he tilts my chin up and presses a soft, tender kiss to my lips. A flower of flame blossoms in my chest.

“Yes, what?”

I am only confused for a moment. He must see the realization in my eyes, because he hums in approval.

“Yes, sir.”

His eyes flash, and then his mouth is hard on mine. He backs me to the wall, pressing his body so firmly to mine that I feel every line and hollow of his muscled chest. I moan into his mouth, pushing myself up on my tiptoes for better access. Sensing my struggle, Azriel cups the back of my thighs and wraps my legs around his waist. For a moment, anxiety shoots through me and I stiffen. I’m not exactly small, with my soft stomach and round thighs. But he lifts me effortlessly, and with finesse. Thank the cauldron for Fae strength. When the action lands me directly on the bulge in his jeans, he releases a delicious groan.

I smirk into the kiss as I rock my hips over that firmness, and Azriel’s hands tighten their grip on my thighs.

“Don’t tease me, Sabine.” He growls, hands slipping farther beneath the hem of my dress.

“You may not like the consequences.” This he whispers in my ear as he finds the heat between my legs, and begins to rub slow circles over my clit.

I gasp and tighten my already shaking legs around him, as he pulls my panties to the side and slowly inserts a finger in my sex. Within moments, I feel myself teetering on the edge of an earth shattering orgasm. Something about Azriel’s touch makes everything feel keenly hypersensitive, bewitching in it’s intensity. Thankfully, the elevator door dings before I can make a fool of myself by cumming before he even has my clothes off. Instead of setting me down, Azriel cloaks us both in shadows and exits the box, still hefting me in his arms as tenants enter the elevator behind us.

“Azriel!” I hiss, hiding my bright red face in his shoulder.

“They can’t see you, baby. But soon, they’ll be able to hear you.”

I vacate my hiding spot so I can meet his eyes, not bothering to hide the overwhelming, all encompassing need burning in them.

“Promise?”

His eyes are molten obsidian, making his answer obvious. We reach his apartment, and he seals us inside immediately. Azriel wastes no time taking me to his bedroom, and I am so wrapped up in him I don’t even peek at his apartment. Is it a swanky bachelor pad or minimalist studio? I make a mental note to snoop around a little before I leave.

Azriel’s kisses have grown softer, almost reverent in their slow rhythm. He gently deposits me amongst his grey blankets and pillows. He hovers over me for a moment, a strange, almost confused light in his eye.

“Az?”I whisper, suddenly self conscious. Has he changed his mind?

And just like that, his eyes are clear again. He fixes me with a warm, male smile.

“I like when you call me that.” He kisses my throat once more, then skims his lips over the top of my breasts, my nipples peaking in response.

“Didn’t you say something about me undressing for you?” I murmur breathlessly, practically writhing beneath his ministrations.

He chuckles against the skin of my shoulder before rising from atop me. Azriel crosses the room and settles into a leather armchair by the fireplace, which crackles to life as he approaches.

“How could I forget.” He murmurs, once again observing me from afar with eyes that promise immeasurable pleasure. While he sheds his leather jacket, he motions for me to begin.

I start by crossing my legs in order to unzip my thigh high boots, before discarding them at the end of the bed. My hands shaking under the weight of his stare, I extend my leg and start to remove my stockings.

“Keep those on for me. Just those.”

I look up at his voice, and my mouth goes dry as I notice Azriel adjusting the very apparent tent in his jeans. Gods, a bulge that huge has spine tingling implications for later. My heart skips in my chest, and I’ve become so wet I know I’ll find my underwear a sopping mess.

“Yes, sir.” I whisper, rolling the lacy garment into place as requested.

“Good girl.”

A moan slips past my lips at that, shocking even me. Never, ever did I think that I’d call a male ‘sir’ and get off to following his commands. But here I am. If it was any male other than Azriel, I’d laugh in his face or slap him.

But it is Azriel, and he’s already awoken a part of me I had no idea existed. It lay dormant inside me until now, waiting for him to show me what I’ve been missing. And we haven’t even fucked yet. I shiver in anticipation.

“Does someone like that? Being praised?” His voice is the deepest I’ve heard it, slow and commanding.

“Y-yes, sir.” I’m still seated at the end of his bed, boots discarded and aching with need.

I look up from beneath thick lashes, heat spreading across my face as Azriel unbuttons the first few buttons of his shirt, his jacket now draped across the back of his chair.

“Look at me, love.”

I obey, of course. The ocean of longing I feel is mirrored in his dark eyes, and I bite my lip to keep from begging him to take me. Take me and never stop.

“You don’t have to feel nervous with me. You’re safe. I know surrender can be scary, but I promise I’ll cherish the control you’re giving me. I’m honored that you’d give yourself to me like this.”

A light, warm sensation spreads through me at his words. The sincerity in his hazel eyes is what does it for me. I rise from the bed, and all of my nerves melt away under the scorching heat of his gaze. All my worries about my body, his expectations, become unremarkable. With my eyes never leaving his, I reach under my dress and hook my fingers around the waistline of my panties. Slowly, I slide the scrap of lace down my legs. He lets out a puff of breath, fingers gripping the armrests of his chair, all sense of smug relaxation gone.

With a feline smile, I toss them into his lap. He grins back at me, while stuffing the panties into the pocket of his jacket.

“I’m keeping these.”

I turn towards the bed, and look over my shoulder at his face as I slide the thin straps of my dress down my arms.

And it falls to the floor in a puddle of silk.

I am completely bare before him, and I have never felt more beautiful. Azriel looks like a male seeing his first sunrise, after spending an eternity in the dark.

With a growl, he crosses the room in three strides. His hands land on my naked hips, and he pulls me smack against him. I moan at the feeling of his length pressed to my backside, and my body grinds against him without my permission.

“You have the most perfect ass I have ever seen. I think I may spank you later.”

His lips are at my neck, kissing and biting. He spins me around in his arms, onyx eyes exploring as he runs his hands down the curve of my waist and hips.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He groans, massive hands coming up to cup my breasts.

I whimper as he begins to pinch and pull gently at my nipples, and he relishes the sound. When he takes one of them into his mouth, I nearly fragment right there.

I have to feel his skin on mine. I need him in me, immediately.

“Az, please.”

With desperate, shaking hands I yank open his fine black dress shirt. Buttons fly and scatter across the ground, but I hardly notice.

Azriel’s naked torso is the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen. He is all lean muscle and broad shoulders, a deep V leading beneath his pants. Black swirls of ink cover his chest, and trail down his arms. I curse under my breath and run my hands over every elegant line and ridge of his body, mouth agape. When my hands find the waist of his trousers, his core tightens and a strained chuckle leaves his lips.

“Gods, love. Keep looking at me like that and you’re never leaving this bed.” For the first time tonight, he sounds just as breathless as me.

“And if that’s what I want?” I purr, looking up at him from my kneeling position on the bed.

He gives me the slow, confident smirk that first enraptured me at Rita’s, and unbuttons his pants. In moments, they’re discarded on the floor with my dress.

I look down.

Sweet cauldron above.

Torrid flames lick up and down my body, and I can’t stop myself from touching him. It would take two hands to properly pump him, and who even knows if I could fit him in my throat.

Soon, I would find out soon.

Azriel hisses at the contact, hips thrusting into my hands. Next thing I know, his lips are slamming into mine and my back meets the bed. He takes my hands in one of his and forces them above my head as he kisses me, hips slowly thrusting against mine.

His cock slides between my folds, and we both groan into the kiss.

“Fucking gods. You’re so wet, baby.”

His voice is rough with pleasure, and my entire body tenses at the sound of it. I could easily cum to just his voice alone.

“Oh fuck, Az please, oh gods please.” I cry, rolling my hips against his in an attempt to get the release my body is screaming for.

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?”

My reply is inarticulate, the need and frustration boundless. He chuckles against my mouth, and soon he’s trailing kisses down my body. I gasp and tremble beneath him, squeezing my legs together when I realize where he’s headed. I’ve only ever let serious, long term lovers pleasure me in that way. It feels so intimate, so vulnerable.

“Relax, beautiful. I’m gonna make you feel good, okay?”

He murmurs soothingly, massaging my hips with gentle hands. I hesitantly let my legs fall open, and I glance down at the gorgeous male.

The sight of him between my legs alone nearly has me climaxing. Azriel presses hot kisses all over my thighs, his hands still massaging my hips. I feel myself go limp in his arms, my eyes closing in complete bliss. If I’m going to make an exception for anyone, it's him. Especially since I know that if there was anything I wasn’t comfortable with, he wouldn’t push me.

“That’s right, love. Relax. I’ve got you.”

I smile, and reach a hand down to tangle my fingers in his tresses.

And then his mouth is on me, and my back is arching off the bed and I’m gasping his name. Azriel devours me until my legs are shaking and tears are streaming down my face as I cum, his fingers pumping inside me.

And he does it again. And again.

By my third climax, I’m nearly sobbing and my body is quaking under his hands.

I open my eyes to see Azriel hovering over me, adoration in his eyes and lips glistening. He leans down, and I crash my lips into his. Kissing him is like… like coming home.

I’ve had a few one night stands throughout my adult life. Most were drunken and sloppy, with zero emotions involved. Something about this time feels different.

“Azriel.” It comes out as a whine, and if I weren’t completely unraveled, I would be humiliated at how desperate I am for this male.

With a heated look, he grasps my hips and angles them up, settling himself between my legs. He rests his forehead against mine, our panting breaths mingling. When the tip of his cock pricks my entrance, I dig my nails into the scarred skin of his back. I think I even whimper.

‘I’ll be gentle.” Azriel promises, pressing a torrid kiss to my swollen lips.

“For now.”

I open my mouth to comment on that remark, but Azriel buries himself to the hilt inside of me.

In unison, we let out guttural moans that are loud enough to wake the neighbors. He curses into my shoulder, his breath fanning across the sensitive skin there.

As he begins to gently thrust, letting me adjust, I realize just what it is to be with a male of his size. I am filled entirely, stretching in new, delicious ways. I realize now why he was so insistent on pleasuring me so thoroughly. I’m sure he loved teasing me, but it was also to prepare me for him. I wrap my legs around Azriel’s waist, urging him deeper.

He complies, angling his thrust with a low moan. A string of incoherent curses leave my lips as the change strikes me deep, pleasure forking through me like lightning.

“Right there?” The supreme satisfaction in his voice, and the smirk on his full mouth undoes me.

“Quit teasing me and fuck me like I know you want to.” I snap, glaring up into his eyes. This male has me beyond frustrated, beyond desperate. And he knows it.

He raises an eyebrow, that cocky grin only growing. But he remains silent as he strokes his thumb across my lips, his attention drawn to where he and I are joined. His face is flushed, muscles tight with restraint. I feel a deep sense of delight when I realize he’s just as affected by me as I am by him.

The grin falls from his face, replaced with absolute primal need, as I take his thumb into my mouth. I can’t help but grin mischievously at the look on his face, and I swirl my tongue around his fingertip. With a growl, he gives me exactly what I’ve been begging for.

Azriel unleashes himself, the sound of our bodies colliding echoing through the master suite. His hand wraps around my throat, and he uses this new leverage to pull me onto him each time he thrusts. I cry out, the sudden increase sending my vision into fractures. Azriel’s hips meet mine again and again, our moans combining into a symphony.

“Bend me over.” I gasp, and I’m surprised when I hear the words leave my mouth. Azriel’s grins down at me, raven hair falling into his eyes. He chuckles darkly.

“As you wish.”

Suddenly, Azriel is flipping me onto my stomach, and dragging me to the end of the bed by my hips. I squeal in surprise, the sound cut off by a moan as he sheathes himself in me once again. With a strength I’ve only ever seen Illyrian males exhibit, he hauls my hips back to meet each thrust, eliciting screams of absolute pleasure from me. Az tangles his fingers into my hair, and then there’s a sharp sting across my ass. I gasp, though the pain soon turns to pleasure. Azriel leans down, his voice in my ear.

“Look at you taking all of my cock like a good girl.”

I whimper and feel myself tighten around him, his voice always my tipping point. He presses his chest to my back, and groans into my shoulder, wings coming down to encircle us.

“I-I’m close.” My voice is hoarse, and entirely breathless.

Azriel gently turns me until I’m on my back again, his forehead meeting mine.

“I want to watch you cum.” He gasps, his movements becoming more and more fervent.

I wrap myself around the shadowsinger, until I can’t tell where I end and he begins. He claims my lips once more, our tongues and teeth clashing in desperation. Heat flares inside my belly, my inner thighs beginning to shake with our rapid, passionate joining. I know I’m about to fall off the edge and I’m desperate to take him with me.

His massive, silky smooth wings are still curled around me. Guided by an unknown instinct, I press a kiss to the scarred underside of his wing, my tongue stroking softly.

His eyes shoot open, entire body going rigid and roaring as he spills himself into me. At the sound of my name falling from his lips, my own orgasm plows into me, our climaxes nearly simultaneous.

My vision goes black, and then bursts into a kaleidoscope of colors, my entire body alight with white-hot pleasure. I shake apart in his arms, and he in mine.

Then something miraculously unexpected happens.

The mysterious, ethereal link I’d felt enthralling me to him all night explodes into existence; pulling taut and snapping into place with dizzying velocity.

His eyes are blank with astonishment, face pallid. I blink up at him, feeling as if I’m on the edge of sleep, not entirely awake.

Azriel sits up abruptly, wings flaring behind him as he pants. I freeze, suddenly feeling very exposed beneath his gaze. I yank the nearest sheet over me, my face blazing red. It's as his eyes are searching my face that I feel it. A questioning, incorporeal tug down the bond.

The Mate bond.

Oh gods. Oh gods. I sit up hurriedly, scooting myself to the other side of the bed, even if moving away from this male feels like ripping myself in half.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

Azriel is -

“Oh, fucking hell.”

#azrielfanfic #azriel #acotar #acotarsmut #acotar fic #feysand #nessian #smut #rhysand #feyre archeron #feyre cursebreaker

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ieattaperecorders · 4 years ago

Text

Something's Different About You Lately - Chapter 14: After the Fire

Jon has some visitors.

Note: This chapter contains a few small instances of well-meaning people touching a blind person without warning in a way that startles them.

Read on Ao3

---

He knew that he was in a hospital before he was fully awake. The texture of the stiff sheets and gown, the antiseptic smell, some indistinctly medical quality to the air filled him with the memory of wandering through distant dreams, of emerging into a cold and brightly-lit room. He came to himself gradually, slowly growing aware of an uncomfortable heaviness, of something wrapped around his face and something else restricting movement on his right side. He shifted experimentally and felt a twinge. Quietly, he groaned.

"Hey," came a voice from nearby. "You actually awake, boss? Or is this another false alarm?"

I'm not your boss anymore, Tim, he thought. Then he thought, wait a minute.

"Tim . . . ?" his voice came out hoarse and thick with grogginess. "Where – augh . . . ."

Pain shot through Jon's body as he tried to lift himself into a sitting position. He heard Tim get up and felt a careful hand on his left shoulder, guiding him back down.

"Oooh, don't do that. They've got you on the good stuff, but you're still a mess on that side. Don't be such an impatient patient."

"Where's Martin? Is he –"

"Relax, Martin's fine. Well, not fine, he's been shot, but he's doing a lot better than you. Bullet glanced off your shoulder before hitting him, tore up some muscle and fat but didn't get anything vital. He was awake before you were even out of surgery."

The hand stayed on Jon until it was clear he was going to remain still, then came away. There was an audible scrape as a chair was pulled closer, and Tim sat down again.

"We're all fine too, by the way," he added, as if offended he hadn't asked. "Just so you know."

"And . . . Jonah?"

Tim was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was subdued.

"Didn't check if he was breathing when we left him, but he wasn't getting up," he said. "And I can't see anything coming out of that fire."

Jon lay still and tried to process it all. He wasn't sure what he should feel. What he did feel was a distant sort of unsteadiness, whether it was shock or whatever painkillers were coursing through his system, he didn't know.

"Have you been sitting up with me?" he asked.

"Don't get too big a head about it," Tim smirked. "I've only been here a bit. Sasha's come by to peek in as well, and we've visited Martin too. I was just lucky enough to be the one to see your grumpy little face when you woke up."

"Huh." Surprise and a strange melancholy rose in Jon at the thought. He smiled wryly, "and for my part, the first thing I hear on regaining consciousness is Tim Stoker's terrible puns."

"Excuse you, I am a delight to be around and my puns are charming."

Jon laughed softly, lapsing back into silence. The quiet stretched on for a while, solemnity beginning to creep in at the edges again. Then Tim spoke.

". . . You think he's actually dead?"

"Jonah? I think so. Avatars can be hard to kill, but he was very afraid of death." Jon tapped his less encumbered hand against the mattress, considering. "I think . . . if he had reached to the Eye in his last moments, it would have simply watched as his life faded away, doing what it does. Drinking in his fear."

"Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy," Tim muttered, something unsettled in his tone. "What about the circus?"

". . . Depends what you mean, I suppose." Jon tried to choose his words carefully. "I'm not the Archivist anymore, so I don't think they'd have any interest in me now. We're not protected from them, but I don't think they'd have reason to come after any of us. Unless, of course," he added pointedly. "Someone draws their interest by going after them."

"Even if we get away, they're still out there," Tim pushed, something limping in his voice, "Doing what they do to people. Am I supposed to just be okay with that?"

Jon was quiet for a while.

"If you could destroy the circus," he said softly, "which is a big ‘if', but if you could, the Stranger would continue manifesting in other forms. Possibly even as a circus again. You can't keep fear from the world, you'd only be changing details. In the end I don't know if it would save anyone."

"It would hurt those things, though. Wouldn't it?"

"Maybe," Jon said. "Maybe not. Certainly not as much as it would hurt anyone who cared about you."

It was Tim's turn to be quiet. He let out a long, frustrated sigh. "Not sure I like this new, future-memories version of you Jon," he said. "He's kind of a know-it-all."

"You should have seen me when I was literally all-knowing."

"Nightmare. Don't know how Martin put up with you."

"Neither do I." Jon smiled, warmth running through him at the thought. He took a long, slow breath. ". . . You died hating me, you know. In that other life."

"Yeah?" Tim didn't sound very surprised. "What'd you do?"

"Plenty," Jon laughed mirthlessly. "Though by the end I'm not even sure how much it had to do with me. We were lost, hurt, broken people, lashing out in fear and pain."

"Yeah. Starting to think that the Magnus Institute didn't exactly facilitate a healthy work environment."

"No . . . ."

He heard a soft, electronic tapping in the pause that followed. Maybe Tim was texting the others, letting them know Jon was awake? He couldn't tell. A gentle shove hit his uninjured shoulder, making him flinch.

"Well. Let's try not to fuck it up this time around, huh?" Tim said. "I'm gonna go get a nurse and tell them you're up, they'll probably want to check your vitals or rotate your tires or something."

"Right. Uh, right . . ." Jon stammered, "thank you."

The footsteps faded, and Jon let his head sink back onto the pillow. He felt . . . adrift. More so than he had in a while.

He'd been confused and frightened through all of this, half the time he hadn't even known what he was looking for, but at least he'd known he was looking. Even in the long, terrible walk across the nightmare domains, the constant pull of their destination had given him purpose. He'd known what he was hoping for.

And there had been Martin there. Of course.

For better or worse now, Jonah was dead and he was alive. He was severed from the Eye, the others were freed, and dark and terrible powers still lurked beyond the edge of human perception, waiting to Become.

Jon wasn't sure what he was hoping for now. He lay back and waited for the nurse to arrive.

* * *

Time passed in a haze. He had little sense of how much he slept, and the divide between sleep and waking blurred together.

Sometimes he had visitors. Georgie came in not long after Tim, having gotten a very incomplete version of events through Melanie. He hadn't exactly intended to tell her anything when she sat down, but somehow after a few confused inquiries, and a gentle "try me" or two, he found himself spilling everything. It was far more disjointed and emotional than his recounting in the tunnels, but the bulk of it seemed to get across.

When it was over, she just said, "sounds like you've had a hell of a time."

It was the calmness as much as the sympathy that affected Jon. As if he'd just told her about a bad relationship he'd gotten out of, rather than his place in the universe's nightmare cosmology and the end of the world.

He didn't know what to say to it, really, and frankly saying anything at all risked letting the tightness inside his chest come spilling out - the pressure bandage would hide any tears, but Georgie would be able to tell. She saved him by breaking the silence, asking if he had any stock tips or winning lottery numbers from the future to share.

Melanie's visits were less steadying, twice devolving into arguments. It seemed to be a constant between them, that no matter what happened or what forces were acting on either of them, their ability to rile each other was inevitable. She was also insistent that he explain every detail he remembered about what she'd begun calling the "dark timeline." When he complained that framing it as an alternate timeline was likely inaccurate and, frankly, horrifying in its implications, she threw a pen at him.

Still, she came back again afterwards. And still, he was glad that she did.

Sasha reported that her hand was healing, though when pressed admitted he'd been right about her range of motion not returning. She also helped him set the voice assistant up on his phone, which was a great relief. Though it was a bit embarrassing to reveal how little he knew about his own device's functions.

"Honestly Jon, you're only thirty-one," she said, going through some final setup that he'd already forgotten her explanation of. "You've got no excuse at all to be so tech-illiterate."

"Yes, yes. I've had other priorities lately."

"I don't mind you asking for help, understand. But what are you going to do if I get eaten by another evil table someday?"

He felt a stab of shock at the blazingly conversational reference to it. Something must have shown on his face because he heard her pause..

"Sorry. Too soon?"

"Ah. . . depends on your perspective of time, I suppose," Jon said, trying and failing to make it sound like a joke.

"Right. You know, it's all a little distant for me. Unsettling, sure, but on my end it's really just a story. . . ." she trailed off. "Hey, what were you doing in Hainault?"

"Gertrude's storage locker was there -- are you going through my location history?"

"Just the more recent stuff," she made it sound as if he was the strange one for asking, and he grunted with annoyed resignation.

"You should be careful about that."

"About what?"

"Prying into other people. Invading their privacy," he lay his head back against the pillow. "Don't forget that you were part of a temple to the Eye until very recently. You're free of the Institute now, but the power behind it might not be through with you."

She was quiet for a while. Whether it meant she was contemplating what he said or ignoring him so that she could continue digging through his phone, he couldn't say.

"All I'm saying is that it can be addicting," he continued. "That urge to push past the boundaries that people raise against you. Trust me when I say that I know."

"I'd imagine you would." She paused. ". . . What was it like?"

"What was what like?"

"Being all knowing?"

". . . Hard to describe."

There was a pause, and when it became clear he wasn't going to continue, Sasha pushed out an annoyed breath and said "well you could give it more of a shot than that."

"I don't know. Overwhelming," Jon said. "In the most complete sense of the word. Sometimes I had answers, but so few of them were helpful in the end. And the things I saw, the nightmares, the pain of everyone trapped in them. Having to watch that sort of thing, all the time . . . either it destroys you, or you learn to distance yourself. At least a little. If only to keep from breaking down. Neither is very good, but one lets you survive."

Sasha made a thoughtful humming noise.

"It isn't anything you want. Believe me," he said softly. "Even if the world hadn't ended, if I'd just been another avatar . . . any rewards aren't worth the price that others have to pay."

"Yeah," she sighed heavily. "Sounds about right."

Jon relaxed, some tension he'd been carrying in him slowly unlocking. Sasha continued.

"Well. Talking about privacy, while I'm here let me at least show you how to stop broadcasting your location to anyone and everyone," she tsked and scooted her chair closer. "Honestly. No wonder you got kidnapped all the time."

"I don't really think supernatural manifestations of fears needed GPS to find me."

"Couldn't have helped though, could it?"

"Probably not," Jon smiled sadly. "Should've had you around."

"Yeah. Can't imagine how any of you managed."

* * *

Even with his visitors, there were long stretches of time Jon spent entirely alone. Laying in the dark and the quiet, his thoughts shifting like a tide. Sometimes he'd drift back to those first years at the Institute, or the time-beyond-time after the change. Other days he'd lay contemplating the past few months, all the things that he'd re-written and the worries he still had.

Mostly he thought of very little, the twin sophorics of boredom and pain medication fogging his mind into an uncomfortable stasis.

When the knock came, he'd been listening to the soft, white noise of the air conditioning and thinking of how much it resembled distant waves, putting him in mind of a cold and empty shore. Then he heard two soft taps against the door, along with a familiar voice.

"Knock, knock," Martin said.

It was the first time he'd heard his voice since the fire, since the two of them were falling to the ground together. Without really thinking he asked, "who's there?"

"Oh! Right –" he sounded embarrassed. "Sorry, it's Martin."

"Yes, I -- ah, yes." Jon sounded pitifully eager, he knew, but he couldn't bring himself to care. "C-come in. Please."

* * *

If Jon was asleep, Martin decided, then he'd come back later. He probably needed the rest -- had needed it a good long while before they'd both been shot. Really, Martin ought to be at home resting as well. But when he knocked softly on the half open door, Jon turned in his direction, wide awake.

"Who's there?" he asked.

"Oh! Right –" stupid, he can't see you. Going to have to remember that. "Sorry, it's Martin."

Jon nodded, inviting him in and slowly shifting into a seated position as Martin pulled a chair up to his bedside.

He could see the edge of a dressing covering the bullet's exit wound, just peeking up from under Jon's collar. The bandages had been removed from his eyes, and the area around them was still a little bruised and swollen. He looked wrung out, small and tired. But then, Martin supposed, everyone looks small and tired in a hospital bed.

"How are you doing?" Jon asked, "they told me you've been recovering as well . . . ."

"Yeah, just got released this morning." He stretched, rubbing over the bandage that was hidden below his shirt and jacket. "Went home, had a shower, then came right back to the hospital."

"Sounds like an exciting day."

"What about you?"

"Mmm, still looking forward to a few days here, at least. They don't think I'll be needing more surgery, fortunately, and they're weaning me onto less intense painkillers. It's a little exhausting, but apparently I'm recovering well."

"Considering you took a bullet for me," Martin muttered.

A startled-sounding laugh came from Jon. "I'm not really sure that's what happened. More like we both got shot at the same time?"

"Suppose so," Martin said. Didn't quite feel that way, though. "Honestly, I don't even know if he was trying to shoot us at the end, or if the gun just went off when they tackled him."

"Neither would surprise me."

"But then I didn't even think he had a gun, let alone murdered people with it."

"I suspect he was desperate. He probably only resorts -- resorted to things like that when some disaster crept up on him. Like us, or like Gertrude. He wasn't the hands-on type. Which came back to bite him with the ritual. In a way it's the reason I'm here -- or, the memories are, I suppose."

"Right . . . ."

Martin had plenty of time to think about it all, laid up in his own bed on another floor of the same building. About all that happened, about the things Jon told them in the tunnels. More than anything else, it just made him feel foolish. Like he'd been left out of a conversation that had been going on behind his back, and now everyone was looking at him and expecting him to catch up.

Which was pretty foolish itself, of course. Jon hadn't told anyone the whole story -- there'd been no conversation, no loop he was kept out of. It wasn't as if ‘post apocalyptic time-traveling memories' was a conclusion he could have somehow come to if he'd just paid closer attention. It was a ridiculous way to feel.

Sasha had told him, between games of dominoes, that she was glad he'd been there that night because she didn't think anyone else could have talked Jon out of his plan. Which was a lot to unpack, but didn't help with the sense of being out of the loop. Not if it was that obvious. Of course, she might have just been trying to make him feel useful. The way he saw it, he hadn't done much that evening except quietly panic, shout a bit and get held at gunpoint. And get shot. And get Jon shot with him, because he'd stood in front of him.

"I'm sorry . . . ." Martin said, softly.

". . . For what?"

"I saw what was happening, just before the gun went off. I could have pulled you away if I was faster, or thrown us to the ground, or done something. Instead I just froze."

"Martin . . ." Jon tilted his head in his direction. "Even assuming you could have been fast enough, most people freeze up when a gun is pointed at them. I did the same the first few times."

". . . First few times." Martin repeated flatly. "Jesus, Jon."

"I know. It's been a difficult few years."

"I didn't even know . . . ."

"I didn't want you to know," Jon said. "I couldn't tell any of you, Martin, not until everything was ready. You saw how close things came as it was, if he'd gotten wind of things sooner . . . ."

"Right . . . of course."

The two of them fell into an uncertain silence. Jon's hand worried at a thread on the edge of the bedsheet, twisting and twirling it between his fingers. Martin thought about that hand moving slowly and smoothly over his own, about the sorrow on Jon's face when he'd pulled away. Doubt anyone else could've talked him out of it, Sasha's voice repeated in his mind.

"About what you said. In the tunnels . . . ."

Jon visibly tensed, the edge of the sheet twisting in his fingers. "Er . . . which part?"

"The part about me," Martin said, praying that would be enough, that Jon wasn't going to make him actually repeat the words. "About us?"

"Ah. Right," he smiled weakly. "Funny how much easier it is to say these things when you think you're not going to be alive much longer."

"You were really going to tell me that and then go off to die a minute later, weren't you?" There was something quiet in Martin's voice as he spoke. Calm. Like the eye of a hurricane.

"I . . ." Jon hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."

"Bit rude."

". . . Suppose it was."

Martin went quiet. What could he say to that, to any of it? It wasn't as if he didn't get it, insecurity only goes so far when there's a declaration that explicit. He knew what I love you meant, he just . . . felt like he'd only now joined the conversation.

Before the silence could grow too powerful, Jon spoke again.

"We were together. In that other life. By the end of it, at least. I --" he laughed softly. "It took me too damned long to even realize my own feelings, let alone imagine that -- but we were together."

I can't watch that happen again, he'd said. Martin had more or less guessed that was the situation, but it was still strange to hear it confirmed. Surreal to think that Jon had a history with him, or a version of him, that he wasn't a part of.

"Were we happy?"

Jon was quiet for a while before answering. "I -- I'd like to say we were. I don't know if happy is a word I can use. At first we were in hiding, and then after the Change it was . . . well, it was a nightmare. But we had each other, and that made all the difference. And --"

He took an unsteady breath. "I think I was happier in those desperate weeks we had before the world ended than I'd honestly been in years? And there were times I'd see you in that cabin, and you'd be complaining about something, or humming while we cleaned and laughing to yourself. And you'd look different somehow, and it felt like -- there was a part of you that had been tucked away in all the time I'd known you, that was letting itself breathe again, and I was so lucky to be allowed to see it," he laughed lowly. "Or maybe all that was me projecting. Maybe I was the fool who should have paid better attention before. I don't know."

Martin tried to picture himself tucked into some remote hideaway, hiding from sinister supernatural monsters but relaxed enough to be humming and laughing while they tidied up. Tried to imagine what Jon could be referring to, how he'd been different and whether that was a good or bad thing, even. He found that he couldn't do either.

"What was he like?" he asked. "That other me."

A soft smile spread through Jon. "He was like you, Martin. A little older . . . a great deal more tired. More short-tempered, or maybe just more vocal about it," he added with fondness. "He was brave, and frustrating, and . . . and wonderful. Just wonderful."

". . . Sounds like quite a guy." Martin managed.

Jon nodded. Then the smile slipped from him, and his hands came together in his lap,

"I know that you aren't him. That is -- you are, in a sense you're the same person, but you also aren't?" he gestured outward. "Our experiences, they shape who we are, they change us. I know that."

". . . Right."

A part of him had suspected something like this might be coming, and he shouldn't have gotten his hopes up. It still hurt, and he felt guiltily relieved that Jon couldn't see his face just now.

"I just . . ." Jon continued, "I don't want you to think, ah, that I expect anything--"

"No, I get it." Martin tried to smile, tried to sound like every word wasn't twisting in him. "I probably remind you of him? And -- heat of the moment, you thought you were gonna die. I get it. I don't expect anything either."

Jon frowned, looking momentarily confused.

"I know I'm not him, like, it's not the same," Martin continued, clearing his throat. "It doesn't have to be a thing, you know, if you don't want--"

"Martin." Jon cut him off. "I meant every word I said down there. I still do."

The words dried up in Martin's throat as Jon continued.

“I love you. Just as much as I always have. I still want to have a life with you, and I’m still terrified of that life being torn from us. And I don’t know how you feel about me, but I know -- even if any, ah, feelings are returned, I--” He took a deep breath, “What I feel for you, it’s, well, it’s a lot? There are so many things I’ve been through with you that you haven’t been through with me, and that’s good, I’m glad you haven’t been through them because they were mostly horrible. But I can’t deny that many of them brought us closer --”

“Jon . . . .”

“And -- and I don’t want to scare you off with the -- the intensity of my feelings but I’d understand and I wouldn’t blame you --”

Martin reached out and put a hand on Jon’s arm. The flurry of movement and talk came to a sharp standstill.

“Jon,” he said again.

“Oh. Um,” Jon’s voice was small and quiet. “Oh.”

". . . I don’t know how I’m different from the Martin you remember. And I don’t know how he felt about you, or how what I feel is different,” he said slowly. “All I know is that when you said you were going to go off to find a quiet corner and kill yourself, it felt like the whole world was falling apart.”

Jon was still under his hand, barely breathing.

“Don’t do it again.”

Quietly, Jon nodded. Martin pulled his hand away, settling back into the chair. For a while neither of them said anything,

“I mean, listen . . .” Martin finally broke the silence, shrugging uncertainly. “I’m willing to give it a try if you are?”

An unsteady sound came out of Jon, his hand flew up to cover his mouth and when he pulled it away he was smiling. "I -- I'd like that. Very much," he said.

"Okay." Martin smiled back, feeling airy, lightheaded. "Cool." He laughed. "Getting shot together'll make a hell of a first date."

"Wh-- that was not a first date!" Jon protested, his own laugh coming out sharp and startled, "that was a -- a terrifying escape from our sinister employer."

"Kind of romantic though, right?" Martin teased, "in a bad action movie sort of way."

"Everything else aside, I refuse to entertain the idea that our first date involved Jonah Magnus in any respect," he shuddered, shaking his head. "Though it -- it honestly may be a while before I'm up for anything much better. I'll still be in the hospital a bit, and afterwards . . . well, I know there's a lot I'm going to have to adjust to."

Martin felt a twinge at Jon's voice, at the anxiety creeping back into it. ". . . You won't have to do it alone," he said.

Smiling weakly, Jon reached a hand over the hard plastic rail meant to keep patients from falling out of bed. Martin took it and squeezed. Jon nodded and let go, settling back.

"There's still so much . . ." he said. "So much you don't even know . . . about us, and about other things."

"You could tell me now, you know. If you wanted."

Jon paused, looking uncertain. "Are you sure you want to hear it? I don't know what you're expecting but it's not going to be some sort of --- pleasant office romance. It's just a series of horrible, traumatic experiences, one after another."

It was a fair question, really, and Martin thought about it before answering.

"I want to hear it," he said. "If you're okay talking about it, that is. I want to know what you've been living with all these months. And . . . I want to know more about that other life. Even if it's all just awful."

Slowly, Jon nodded. "All right . . ." he said, "but it really is a very long story. It's going to take a while."

"I don't have anything on today," Martin smiled, standing up. "I'll go and get us some tea."

#tma fanfic #tma #sdayl #man it's almost done wild

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hermannsthumb · 4 years ago

Note

From horny twitter: Hermann writes a very very detailed review of a vibrator online

not sfw below cut!!!!!!!!!!!

----------------------------

Now, usually, Newt doesn’t mess around when he’s on the clock, because that’d be very unprofessional of him and that’s totally not who he is, but he’s in a little bit of a rut with his current project and could use the distraction. Online shopping is his favorite go-to distraction these days: he can lose himself in size charts and color options and hunts for coupon codes and forget, even for a few minutes, that the end of the world is accelerating towards them at an intimidating rate. Plus, he can write off half his shit as work-related expenses. Win-win. Though maybe not this particular search.

Newt has a pretty reliable arsenal of sex toys he’s used on rotation since he packed up and shipped across the world for the PPDC, but the ten-year warranty vibe he’s used since PhD #3 (and his favorite of the bunch) finally crapped out on him last week after a historically intense fight with Hermann got him historically wound up. Eleven years ain’t bad. After testing out a different charger, poking around in the wiring, and even going so far as to zap it a few times with some sorta-stolen drift tech to see if it stirred any life back into it, he finally decided it was time to just mourn, move on, and buy a new one. (Even if, unfortunately, his particular favorite model was discontinued when the company’s factory was destroyed in a kaiju attack and they never quite managed to recover. More casualties of the war.)

The sex toy market is truthfully booming during the apocalypse. It makes sense, Newt guesses—anything for a distraction. Personally, for Newt, orgasms tend to dampen his own existential dread, even if it’s just for a few minutes. He scrolls idly through a few Top Ten For 2023 listicles on various sex magazine websites to see if anything jumps out at him (some of the recommended toys are dildos he already has, and vibes that are a little beyond his k-sci paycheck), just hoping for something to jump out at him. Apparently he missed out on a limited-edition run of jaeger and kaiju-themed vibes and dildos that came out in early January, which he’s honestly a little pissed about—he’s the top expert on kaiju biology, god damn it! Didn’t anyone want to consult with him about their hypothetical junk? Accuracy matters.

“It’s all off,” Newt mutters grumpily as he examines a 360 view of one of the kaiju dildos. Trespasser. “It’s not even the right color. Fucking amateurs. Did they even try?”

“What are you doing?” Hermann says.

Newt slams his laptop shut. Hermann decided to cut his lunch break short today, apparently. “Shopping,” he says.

“You sounded awfully angry about something, is all,” Hermann says. He clacks over to his half of the lab and shrugs off his big parka, then pauses. “Do you need to...talk about it?”

“No,” Newt says.

Hermann breathes out in obvious relief. “Good,” he says.

He takes his usual spot at his chalkboard and resumes his calculating. Newt re-opens his laptop and scrolls away from Trespasser before he can make himself angry over anatomical inaccuracies again. The jaeger vibes from the collection are pretty cool, actually; the designs are a lot cleaner, and their artistic license is a lot more forgivable. The highest-rated of the set is one obviously (but not enough to invoke copyright infringement, if that can even exist for a jaeger) modeled off of Coyote Tango, with like, a million different settings, and an astronomical cost to match. Newt eyes it enviously. He could be shoving that up his ass right now if he’d just signed up for a stupid email list last year.

He follows the link to Amazon to read through some of the reviews enviously, too. Life-changing; best money ever spent; warranty lasts a lifetime. Ten stars across the board. Sold out, obviously. No idea when it’ll be back in stock. He could get the Striker Eureka model for twice the original cost as when it came out, if he wanted, but the idea of constantly having to associate the twenty-something punk Hansen kid with his intimate affairs makes him shudder.

A nine-star review for the Coyote Tango model from someone named MathLover69 is the only one to make Newt really pause, on account of how absolutely insane it is.

I saved quite a few paychecks to purchase this vibrator, and though the cost is steep, I must say it is absolutely worth it. As opposed to my normal vibrator (here another vibe is linked, and Newt’s eyebrows jump at that price, too), which has only five settings, an admittedly bulky body, and average battery life, the CT2023 has a generous ten, a sleeker design, and charges fully in a matter of minutes. The orgasms I have experienced while using it are higher in quality (and more numerous) than any resulting previously from masturbation, though I have not tried beyond setting six yet. It also works wonders for stress relief. (I have an incredibly irritating colleague, and nothing calms me down so much as a quick round with the CT2023 after a spat with him.)

The body is versatile enough to be either inserted into one’s—

Newt feels heat rise to his cheeks in spite of himself, and he skims the second paragraph of MathLover69’s review to get the gist of it—that there are, uh, plenty of ways to utilize the vibe, that it’s discreet and small enough to wear to work (if you were inclined to do so, as MathLover69 implies he might’ve been) and that when combined with the Yamarashi dildo, the pleasurable experience increased tenfold. Talk about oversharing. Jeez.

My only complaint would be that the design is a poor approximation of the real Coyote Tango, and for that I’ve docked a star. I would recommend this product.

“This guy is a total nut,” Newt says to himself.

“Hm?” Hermann says.

Newt considers the implications of showing Hermann the vibrator listing: Hermann will know he was shopping for sex toys, Hermann will know he was shopping for kaiju and jaeger-themed sex toys, Hermann will know he was shopping for kaiju and jaeger-themed sex toys during working hours a mere ten feet away from him. Embarrassing, but on the other hand, MathLover69’s review is too funny to not share with someone else. “Hey, Hermann,” Newt says, angling his laptop towards Hermann. “Look. Who comments shit like this?”

Hermann descends his ladder carefully and inches up behind Newt’s shoulder, squinting at his laptop screen. He immediately turns bright red. Newt must’ve offended his Victorian sensibilities with the mere suggestion of self-abuse. “Oh,” he says. “Er.”

“Way TMI,” Newt says. “Listen to this line. ‘With the Yamarashi toy inserted into one’s mouth, and the CT2023 inserted up one’s—'”

“Well, how else is one meant to review a masturbatory aid?” Hermann snaps, surprising Newt. He looks oddly flustered. “Details can be—er—helpful. Can’t they?”

“Sure, dude,” Newt snorts. “Except they’re obviously just screwing with people. They literally have a 69 in their username.” He taps at the MathLover69, and doesn’t mention—on behalf of Hermann’s delicate mathematician feelings—that the MathLover part is obviously meant as a joke too.

“Well,” Hermann says. “Perhaps it’s just his—er, their birthdate.”

Newt turns around to stare at Hermann, taking in his red cheeks, his red ears, and the gaze he’s fixed steadily on his shoes. It’s all Newt can do to not to gape at him. “Hermann, you’re kidding,” he says. “Right?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Hermann says.

“You didn’t,” Newt says.

“I,” Hermann stammers. “Well—”

“I didn’t even know you—”

“That I what?” Hermann says.

Newt gives a half-shrug. Hermann doesn’t seem the type to engage in any sort of vice, let alone this kind. And especially not with the type of sex toys he apparently gravitates towards. (If Newt was a little bolder, and had a little less shame and care for hygiene, he might ask to check out the Yamarashi, because anatomical inaccuracies aside, wow that sounds awesome.) “I mean, you know,” Newt says. “You’re kinda you. No offense.”

Hermann takes offense. “I am human,” he says. “I am allowed to masturbate, Newton, and I was merely attempting to educate other customers about the—product—with my thoroughness.” He adds, awkwardly, “My review was voted very helpful, as you can see.”

“Okay,” Newt says with a grin. “I get it. Sorry.”

Hermann marches back over to his side of the lab with a scowl. Newt waits until he’s sure Hermann’s not watching him, and is too distracted by muttering angrily under his breath, to bookmark MathLover69’s page of reviews.

It turns out (as Newt revisits the page later that night, in the privacy of his bunk) Hermann buys and reviews a truly staggering amount of dildos and sex toys, and on top of that, has absolutely zero filter behind the wall of anonymity. It’s to the extent that some of his reviews read like goddamn sexts.

It took me three occasions to successfully work myself up to taking in the entire length…

My orgasm was so pleasurable I alarmed my colleague with the noise I made, who believed me to have injured myself…

The highest vibration setting is a bit of a disappointment…

These are excellent for double penetration…

It also turns out Hermann is a veritable sex fiend. Or at least a masturbation fiend. Judging by his reviews alone, Hermann’s purchased more than a dozen different toys in the past three years alone. That’s four a year. One every three months. That’s not even including buttplugs, which (according to other reviews) he sometimes just wears into the lab (“work”) for the hell of it, which Newt isn’t even going to think about right now. How the hell has Hermann kept this much of his life under wraps? When the hell does he have time to jerk off as much as he apparently does? No wonder they never seem to have any fucking funding; all of Hermann’s paychecks are funneled directly into his—well.

Newt recalls the faux-injury incident Hermann mentioned in a comment with mild embarrassment. No wonder Hermann had been so weird and flushed when he opened his door, and made excuses to say bye to him so quickly—Newt just caught him (oh, boy) immediately following the best orgasm of his life. Well, mild embarrassment, and a little more than mild arousal. What Newt would’ve given to have been there five minutes earlier, to watch Hermann in the act of the best orgasm of his life, to maybe even be the one to cause it…

What Newt would give to use Hermann’s fancy-shmancy vibrator on him, or literally anything from his giant masturbatory arsenal. Or even just watch him use it on himself. Hermann’s just so damned buttoned-up and uptight—it’s all about the contradictions. Juxtapositions. Newt unzips his jeans and sticks his hand down his boxers. “Stupid Hermann,” he moans, as he begins to bring himself off to the image of Hermann with that stupid kaiju dildo down his throat and that stupid jaeger vibe up his ass. Negotiator of peace between the two? Stupid joke, stupid Hermann. Or maybe he’s picturing Hermann showing up to the lab, all plugged up and loose from using a different vibe on himself that morning. Or maybe Hermann pushing two dildos into himself at once. How the hell can he even manage that? Ass his size— “Oh, goddamn it,” Newt moans again, and comes all over his hand.

Whatever. It’s not like Hermann’s ever going to find out about this.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous #not sfw ////

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crispyjenkins · 4 years ago

Note

Hi just wanted to say that I loved your fic about obi’s new armor that his troopers gave him and the implications behind it. It was amazing and just an all around great read! Though I was just wondering if you were planning on doing a sequel and if not could I request one where it is after Obi-Wan is found and recovering and the 212th are just worrying about their amazing General because holy moly did he go through a lot and little angst with some soft fluff from his family and love Cody.

(Anon, your ask got buried and I no longer know if you meant this Codywan or the Obvious/Domestic one. If you meant the other, shoot me another ask and I’ll fill that one asap!

very minor drug overdose and near death experience warnings for this one! slytheringinger300 wanted hurt/comfort and who am i to refuse ( ˘ ³˘) i meant to get to the rest of ghost company, but it got a little repetitive, so i hope this is okay!

first part here!)

“... never seen this suppressor before, sir, I don’t... mess with the detox... run its course... yes, sir.”

“... updated, Wupi... days from Coruscant, and General Skywalker... rotation.”

“... let you know, sir.”

—

It’s Waxer that carries him back to the Negotiator, one leg and arm swung over his shoulders while Wooley collects the scattered pieces of his armour. Cody retrieves the chestplate personally, and somehow manages to convey unadulterated rage even through his expressionless helmet.

Obi-Wan hates it when Cody is angry, it means it’s all gone wrong, and Obi-Wan never knows how to keep his commander afloat when it’s something enough to break his perfect calm.

Woozily, Obi-Wan thinks he isn’t in much shape to be keeping anyone afloat, unable to even stop his head from bouncing against the back of Waxer’s shoulder. Blaster fire echoes around him, muzzle flashes blinding his half-open eyes, and Obi-Wan doesn’t remember there being anyone other than the Nikto, but clearly there must have been a crew of some sort. Now, why his men hadn’t taken care of them on the way in, he has no idea.

‘Just a little longer, sir,’ some part of Obi-Wan’s brain tells him, sounding suspiciously like Cody. A very worried Cody.

Frowning, it takes Obi-Wan significantly more concentration than it should to shape his thoughts into words. ‘I am only very drugged, darling, though regrettably not the fun kind.’

A stumbled footstep, a fizzle of comms, and then Cody’s voice returns, ‘General?’

‘Yes, hello there. It is quite remarkable you’re able to hear me, are you sure the vode cannot be Force sensitive?’

‘Is now the time, sir? You hardly have a pulse, you shouldn’t—’

Waxer shakes under Obi-Wan, or wait, no, it’s the floor that shakes, as if something has knocked into the ship, but it also knocks whatever connection he’d had to Cody completely out of his grasp. Concentration doesn’t return, and Obi-Wan decides it’s a useless exercise anyway, letting the easy listlessness that’s carried him this far carry him again.

Cody’s voice cuts through his haze just long enough for Obi-Wan to register that they’ve reboarded the Negotiator, and that Wupi is very, very unhappy with him.

“We ever tell you it was Wupi’s idea?” Cody asks, sleepy cadence prodding at the edges of Obi-Wan’s mind. “‘Never seen him get shitfaced enough to miss an appointment before.”

Confused, Obi-Wan tries to sit up, and not only finds that he can’t, but that the Force also tells him to stay the kriff down, and he really must’ve been worse off than he thought if the Force is concerned about him personally.

He tentatively reaches out with his mind, and can’t feel much further than the medbay, but that’s alright, he can feel Cody’s presence just fine, sat next to his bed and hunched over something in his lap. He’s tired, Obi-Wan notes, but that molten metal anger is gone, replaced with a resignation he’ll need more time to decipher; he shudders to think how long Cody’s been sitting there.

Because he knows Cody’s been there as long as he’s been able to convince Wupi to let him, and the thought doesn’t scare Obi-Wan as much as he thought it would.

“They’ve all been through,” Cody continues, chair creaking as he resettles himself and Obi-Wan catches a whiff of paint. “Everything is Shiny-bright again, ‘looks even better than Kix’s at this point.” No one’s armour looks as good as Kix’s, not when he keeps it immaculately clean and touches up the paint twice a month. “I had to kick Wooley out, he’s in here any time he’s off shift; I think Wupi’s going to murder him in his sleep.”

Obi-Wan wants to snort at that, but settles for a tiny twitch of his fingers that Cody surely wouldn’t notice: Wupi’s been threatening to kill Wooley since Kamino, Obi-Wan doubts he has to worry about it these days.

Cody sighs, something bone-deep and exhausted. “Wupi says you’ll be coming out of it soon, he didn’t want to do more than flush your system in case... General Ti says there’s a very low chance of any lasting damage, but kark knows none of us know anything about the Force, so we’ll just have to wait and see.”

His easy grasp of the Force even while mostly-comatose assures Obi-Wan he’ll be perfectly fine once he wakes, but he can’t actually assure anybody else until then, which is as frustrating as anything when he’s right there, just out of reach.

Cody moves again, setting something large on the cart next to the bed as he gets to his feet. Instead of leaving, though, he places a heavy hand on Obi-Wan’s chest, right over his sternum. “You’ve been walking around with my kar’ta for months now, General. Let’s get you set to rights so you can keep doing that.” He taps two fingers over Obi-Wan’s breastbone, where the beskar’ta would be, and Obi-Wan’s heart lurches.

He hadn’t... He didn’t think Cody had meant it like that, anything more than a protection charm, but then again Obi-Wan knows very little of Mandalorian armour traditions, how could he have known, oh Force, is that what the bounty hunter meant—?

“Your thoughts are very loud, sir,” Cody tells him with a soft laugh, though Obi-Wan is sure his shields are firmly in place. ‘Rex says I should give you the chestplate properly, but you’ll have to be fully awake for that, sir.’

‘Well, that’s not quite fair, Cody.’

‘Stop getting drugged, then. Wupi only has so much hair left.’

Cody taps his sternum once more before his footsteps take him away, and Obi-Wan settles back to give many things quite a bit more thought.

Mando’a: vode — “brother, comrade”, meant specifically here for the clones kar’ta — “heart” beskar’ta — “iron heart”, the elongated hex-shape common in Mandalorian armour designs (great post here comparing them to katana tsuba). also called kar’ta beskar or “heart of the iron”.

#codywan #prompt #crispy writes #anon #slytheringinger300 #commander cody #obi-wan kenobi #cody/obi-wan #fill #fanfiction #prequel trilogy #star wars tcw #clone wars #ask box is always open!#ghost company #medic wupi #trooper wooley

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star-birthmark · 4 years ago

Text

Better: Formaggio x Reader x Mista (18+)

To that one anon that asked, “Uwu if you could throw us some more of that juicy formaggio and mista being in love with the same s/o it would be muy greato” It’s finally done, the NSFW part 2 to my Formaggio x Reader x Mista fic . It took me a while, but it is finally done. This is my first not sfw post on this blog, so go easy on me everyone!

CWs: drinking, dirty talk, slight degradation, threesome, slight cucking (lmk If I should add any other tags)

Without further ado: Better (NSFW) (6k words)

You had a strange relationship going within Passione, two men at once. One of them, Mista, a teammate of yours in Bruno’s gang. The other, Formaggio, a supposed “rival” of yours from La Squadra. Though you figured things were going smoothly enough, both men had certain complaints about the arrangement. Formaggio, not content to be your little secret, wanted to claim you for himself and himself alone. Mista, younger than both you and the older mafioso, still felt inadequate against his male companion. One fateful night, the three of you were spending time together, and things soon escalate. Catching you and Formaggio together, Mista embarrassingly asks the older soldato for advice on how to please you... Together, the two of them give you the rough, degrading night that you had long hoped for.

- - -

Formaggio leaned back in his chair, staring up at the night sky. He reached over for the bottle resting on the table nearby, taking a sip of the drink and stared out to his view of Naples. It was his week off, the week Risotto gives all his men, so the assassins can clear their heads from the mafia, and this week happened to be his. He was spending his evening alone sitting on his apartment’s balcony. Trying to forget about work, the young man lounged in a warm red crew neck and sweatpants. It was a perfect night to relax, spend some time unwinding, and mess around with something. Formaggio wiped his mouth after taking a sip and frowned. A perfect night, except that you weren’t there with him. And he missed you, but you were out with Mista that night.

His phone rang from inside the house, and he rushed to pick it up. Prosciutto was on the other end of the line, quick to start speaking, as usual.

“Hey man. I know it’s your week off but the group’s having a poker night. Melone got a little extra from a recent hit and he’s feeling lucky enough to bet it. You in?”

Formaggio shook his head. “Nah… I’m watching the game with (y/n) tonight.”

“Is that Guido guy gonna be there?”

Little Feet’s stand user huffed, not wanting to be reminded of that. “Yeah… he will.”

When Formaggio had initially agreed with Guido Mista that the two of them would “share” you, he didn’t quite realize that agreement’s implications. He hadn’t realized that “sharing” meant you would still be dating Mista, meanwhile he’d be regulated to your secret “side piece”. It was frustrating, especially given the fact that you dated him first, and the fact that he was forced to agree with this arrangement because you’d hate for your precious Capo, Bruno Buccellati, to find out you were in bed with a member of La Squadra. It wasn’t fair. Formaggio had you first, and how he was regulated to the sidelines as your little skeleton in the closet.

The whole situation would be so much easier if he actually hated Mista, then he could just kill him, but he didn’t. Ever since meeting him, the two mafiosos had become incredibly close friends, even going so far as to spend time together without you even being there. They both knew that if it came down to it, they’d be willing to kill each other, but for now, they enjoyed each other’s company. Formaggio wanted to hate Mista so badly, but he couldn’t ignore the smile that came to your face whenever you looked at him while the three of you were hanging out. He supposed he should take it as a compliment, in a sick kind of way. He and Mista were very similar in personality. And since Mista was two years younger than you and Formaggio, the younger soldato often asked the older for advice on how to better survive in the mafia. So perhaps, in that way, Formaggio should feel complimented that you’re so taken by someone so similar to him. But it wasn’t him specifically, though, and that ate him up inside. Formaggio stood up from his chair and got ready to drive over to your place.

He missed you. He missed calling you his. He didn’t like that the only reason he was allowed to sleep with you was that Mista was a chill guy that happened to be cool with it. He was the superior mafioso and he wanted to claim you for himself.

Good thing he’d soon get his chance.

- - - -

The three of you had been planning a night together for a few weeks now. Just a chill night spent together, watching a soccer match, a couple of drinks between you all and nothing intense. Formaggio was finally on his week off from La Squadra, Mista was open for the night and you were just happy to see them both in the same room. You knew perfectly well how odd your situation was, to simultaneously be with two mafia men, one a teammate of yours and the other a supposed “rival”.

But you’ve fallen in love with Mista and fallen back in love with Formaggio, and you were incredibly grateful that the two of them liked each other. The only issue that arose was with the mafia itself. Bruno knew how dangerous La Squadra di Esecuzioni could be, and both you and Mista knew that Bruno shouldn’t find out about your little outings with Formaggio.

Thus, even if the assassin didn’t love the idea, you decided it would be best to continue dating Mista, and Formaggio would be your little secret. Though, you couldn’t help but want it to more than that. The Formaggio you used to date back in the day, paled in comparison to the man that you spent time with now. He was stronger, more confident and assertive, and well… hotter. You could tell how much he hated being your side piece while Mista was your main, but you didn’t want to lose either’s company.

You heard a car horn blast near your building and looked out the window at the sound, seeing Formaggio’s car parked near your front door. Rushing out, you entered the car. Formaggio gave you an up and down and smirked.

“You’re looking good, baby.” You turned over to him with a smile.

“You think so?”

Formaggio grinned, placing a hand on your upper leg and giving you a teasing squeeze there.

“I know so, babe.”

You gave him your own flirtatious giggle. You knew it was odd to have two “boy toys” as Mista called it, but you just couldn’t help yourself.

“Are you excited about tonight?” You asked your driving companion, and his hand went further up your leg.

“Yeah… should be fun. Napoli’s playing Roma. Should be an exciting game.”

“Too bad Mista’s rooting for Napoli though… only the smart ones root for Roma.”

“Well you and I grew up together in Roma, dolcezza, don’t forget.”

Formaggio grinned, giving your inner thigh a teasing pinch, before he suavely took your hand to his lips, kissing the back of it romantically. You rolled your eyes at him, slapping him on the arm.

“Nothing funny tonight alright? I just want it to be chill, the three of us.”

You watched as Formaggio’s mood visually soured as he nodded and made a sharp turn onto a new street.

“Yeah yeah, the three of us… Why? Did Mista say he wanted that?”

You look at him confused. “No… I want that.”

Formaggio gave you a quick glance and you soon realized what he meant. You shook your head, giving him an annoyed huff. Why did he have to act like such a baby?

“Oh dio mio, are you still on about this whole thing?”

Formaggio gripped on tighter to the steering wheel. “Yeah… I am. I had you first.”

You gritted your teeth, angry with him. “Oh, you had me first huh? So? Mista was around when you weren’t. Moron, I’m not some object. I’m a human being you know?”

However, your face softened away its annoyance when you saw how genuinely upset Formaggio was, even if he wasn’t showing it outright. You knew he didn’t like being hidden away like this. You sighed, a sad smile on your face.

“Oh… Formi… caro, cuore mio…”

Formaggio gave you a stabbing glance. “Stop it with the pet names (y/n).”

You saw right through that toughness. “You know you still have a special place in my heart amore… No one can change that. This whole thing is just to save face alright? I joined Passione to find you, and Mista was there for me… I thought you were dead. But I still love you too. I love you both…”

Formaggio gulped. “Why can’t you transfer to La Squadra? Your stand would be better used there anyway.”

“Formaggio, you know that’s not how that works. And besides, Mista won’t give me up that easily.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, a playful smile on your face. Formaggio shook his head, a low chuckle taking over him. He couldn’t stay mad at you, his own emotional Achilles heel. You were just too important to him.

“If I were Mista, I wouldn’t give you up either. I’m not giving up on this though.”

Finally, the car pulled up in front of Mista’s place, the chosen location for the three of you for that night. You often rotated the three apartments for your hangouts, and this night fell on Mista to host. You and Formaggio stopped right before Mista’s front door, the assassin hesitating to knock. Your hands were full from holding things for the night, so you couldn’t knock either. Formaggio looked over his shoulder back at you and you shrugged.

“Formi, knock already will you? My hands are starting to hur-”

Formaggio cut you off by turning to you and planting a deep, passionate kiss on you. You let out a surprised whimper as the young man took your face in his hands. You had expected a normal, quick, loving kiss from him, just a show of affection before keeping it more platonic for the evening. But this was far from sweet and loving, it was needier, more desperate. Formaggio moved his hand down to the small of your back and pulled you flush against him. It was almost as if he only wanted you to think of him for that moment. He finally broke the kiss briefly, letting you breathe. You looked up at him, eyes hazy.

“Umm… uh... Dante I-”

Formaggio cut you off again with another kiss, smirking to himself. You only addressed him by his real name when you were super infatuated by his actions. When it felt like you two were back in Rome together, just normal people. He must be doing a real number on you with this kiss. But before you could drop your things and kiss back more forcefully, Formaggio let you go and quickly knocked on Mista’s door, leaving you bright red in the face as you straighten yourself out.

Mista opened the door, incredibly excited to see you two. You’d been gone on a mission for the past week and he hadn’t gotten a chance to spend time with you, and he was antsy about it. Being younger than both you and Formaggio, he felt that he needed to prove himself to you both, given that he was a sort of addition to your already existing relationship, but you kept assuring him that you valued him just as much as anyone else.

Formaggio was the first to walk in, giving Mista a small hug before collapsing onto the couch in front of the TV. The pregame programming was starting and Mista and him were already wearing their jerseys. Mista took your supplies from you, putting them in the fridge before returning to your side, taking your coat from you, and hanging it up. You could tell what was going on, from his jittery movements and him nervously wiping his clammy hands off on his jeans. When he finally went to speak to you, you instead pulled him in, giving the younger member of Bruno’s team a quick peck on the lips.

“Calm down alright?” You said to him sweetly, and he nodded.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m fine. It’s just been a while since anything’s happened between us.”

“I’ve been busy… why? Did you think anything’s going to happen tonight?”

Mista blinked at your overly direct flirt, suddenly getting even more excited. “Do... d-do you want something to happen?”

“Hmm… nope. No funny stuff tonight. I already told Formaggio.”

Mista thought for a moment, relieved. “Thanks… You know I get self-conscious when he’s around with us...”

“And you shouldn’t be. You’re perfectly capable on your own.”

“Yeah but… he’s better than me at um… you know. You know he’s better.”

“Well you’ll get better. I-”

“Can you two stop talking in the doorway and come sit? I can hear you…”

“Yeah, we’re coming Formi! One sec!”

Mista turned away from you at the sound of the other man’s voice while you shouted to him. Mista was always more nervous whenever he was around both you and Formaggio. He felt he had at least some form of superiority over you, given that he’d been part of Bruno’s gang longer, even if you were older than him. But he always felt inferior to Formaggio in one way or another. Mista had had a few nights alone with you, but when he asked you straightforwardly if he was as good at pleasing you as Formaggio was, you couldn’t help but say that Formaggio was still better, not wanting to lie to your teammate. Such honesty definitely bruised his ego, but Mista was still going to try to hold his ground in this odd relationship. He owed that to himself.

“Alright… let’s go other there.” You instructed Mista before giving him a longer kiss. You chuckled as the other’s face became bright red.

“I uh… umm... I… okay, (y/n).”

“Aww… you’re so cute, caro.” You teasingly ruffled Mista’s hair and he followed you to the couch happily.

The three of you sat together on the couch, getting ready for the game to start. Mista was quick to open three beers, one for each of you, and the drinks were soon knocked back. You rested your head on Mista’s shoulder to make him feel less nervous, running your hand up and down the other’s chest. Formaggio felt a bit annoyed at the display but decided not to do anything about it.

The soccer match soon began, the three of you too preoccupied with the excitement of the game to notice just how many of the beers you had already emptied. All three of you were starting to get rather buzzed by the time the second half of the game was coming to a close. Roma was beating Napoli three goals to two, and Formaggio was having the time of his life drunkenly making fun of Mista for his soccer team preferences. You were enjoying your time with them both, going from resting your head on Mista’s shoulder, to laying against Formaggio’s chest, to having Mista’s head resting in your lap, to snuggling back into Formaggio’s arms.

By the end of the game, you had already lost your inhibitions enough to be sitting in Formaggio’s lap, giggling to yourself while playing with Mista’s hair as he sat nearby. Formaggio kept his hands on your hips while still watching the last remaining minutes of the game, though whenever your attention would stray from him, he would grip onto your hips tightly, leading you to gasp just a bit. Mista felt emboldened enough by his drunken state to kiss you while you were still in the other’s lap, and you were more than willing to indulge him, both of you lightheaded as you kissed him back roughly. Formaggio looked up at the two of you, his face flushed red. The act of seeing you make out with someone else, especially Mista, was strangely hotter than he’d like to admit, though that could have very well been the alcohol talking.

None of you were watching the game anymore. None of you were thinking normally, you were all getting far too comfortable with each other, and the night was still young. It was a recipe for disaster.

When the game finally ended, Roma beating Napoli, you and Formaggio celebrated, meanwhile Mista went off to his room to change out of his jersey, wanting to forget the game ever existed. Formaggio watched Mista walk down the hallway out of sight, before turning to you. You turned around to make eye contact with him, still in his lap, both of you lightheaded from cheering and drinking.

Ceasing this opportunity for alone time, Formaggio eyed you up and down, enjoying what he was seeing. “Hey there bambina… Come here.”

With that, the mafioso leaned into you and began placing slow but meaningful kisses all over your neck and jaw, his hands still gripping onto your hips tightly. You looked down at him, knowing he should stop, but also not really wanting him to. You bit your lip, looking around the living room for any signs that Mista had come back from his room. There were none.

“Wait what if Mista comes back?”

“Let him. Who cares? He’s probably thinking the same thing I am.”

Your attention was soon commanded by a telephone ringing, the sound coming from Mista’s room. You heard the other male go to pick it up, greeting Bruno who was at the other end. It seemed that Mista would be gone for a bit.

You let out a small hum as Formaggio’s hands moved up and down your back. Looking down at him, Formaggio glanced back up at you, his green eyes squinting in his own unique form of mischief, even if his lips didn’t leave from your neck until he was sure he had just left a deep, blood-red mark there. Formaggio gently ran his thumb over the hickey, a toothy grin coming over his face.

“I wonder where else I can put one of these...”

Your face flushed red at such a comment, assisted by all the alcohol in your system. You felt your desire for him begin to grow larger in the pit of your stomach. You promised both him and Mista that there wouldn’t be anything that night, but you were quickly throwing that promise out the window. Turning around so your chest faced his, you leaned down and took matters into your own hands by kissing the assassin before he could tease you about your broken vow for the night. Formaggio chuckled against you, kissing you back with fervor while his hands went back down to your hips to gently work your body back and forth over his lap. You let out a small whimper into his ear and Formaggio couldn’t help but groan at the erotic sound. He turned to you, no longer smiling. Instead, a look of quiet awe swept over him, the same way it did every time you two slept together. Like he couldn’t believe you were real. That you were his. At least partially.

“Are you okay with this?”

He asked, his hands still gripping onto you. You answered him by kissing his neck the same way he did to you and at the same time, moving your hips over him without him needing to guide you. Your lips left him for a second and you muttered a shy, “yes.”

The sound of your voice, combined with you moving over the growing tent in his pants got Formaggio going faster than he’d realized, muttering huskily to himself, “Now that’s the spirit…”

Knowing you wanted it, his hands began to roam, one moving underneath your shirt to feel you up through your bra, and the other moving to roughly pinch your ass. You flinched forward with a high pitched squeal, subconsciously jolting your hips forward with one harsh movement over his pants, and causing you to moan, and for Formaggio to let out a growl deep in his throat.

He looked up at you, his lip swollen from your kissing and from biting on it.

He smiled. “You wanna do that again tesoro?” You remained silent for a moment before shyly nodding.

His hand went to your ass again, this time giving it a teasing smack, causing you to jolt forward again, much to the pleasure of both of you. Seeing that your partner was encouraging you, you kept your hips moving at the same rough pace, meanwhile, your lips returned to his, both of you getting lost in each other. You couldn’t stay mad at him, no matter how much he provoked you. Your bodily desires began to dominate your thoughts and before long, both of your shirts and your bra had been thrown to the other end of the couch and you were still grinding on him. Formaggio regained his focus when the two of you broke your kiss, eyes blown out in pleasure.

You leaned back to give him a full view of your chest, prompting the man to gasp out a desperate, “Oh my god…”

Enjoying his view, Formaggio took it one step further, now latching his hot mouth onto one of your nipples, sucking and biting at the tender bud. Your mouth hung open as soft moans poured out, your hands gently running through the other’s red hair.

The two of you were becoming impatient. With one last peck on the lips, you got off of your lover’s lap and both of you hurriedly slipped off your respective pants.

Formaggio chuckled, bringing his experienced hands up to your hips to pull you back to him. “Who gave you the right to be this sexy?”

You giggled a bit at his flirting. “I’d ask you the same.”

“Are you ready? I don’t wanna wait anymore.”

“Why don’t you find out?”

You chuckled as you climbed back into his lap, resting your knees at either side of his legs to raise yourself so his face was at eye level with your chest. Getting the hint, Formaggio snaked his hand down in between your legs and placed a confident hand over your clothed pussy. You let out a small gasp, and your knees almost gave out from how sensitive you had become. Formaggio ran his thumb over your covered clit, and you gripped onto the back of the couch in order to not fall forward. Your own hand came down to stroke along your partner’s cock through his boxers, squeezing a bit just where you’d remembered he was most sensitive.

Formaggio let out a loud groan at that and bit his lip to silence himself. “You alright babe?” He asked softly, placing more pressure on the swollen bud.

You smiled. “I should be asking you.”

“Are you alright though?” He asked again, rubbing your clit a little harder.

You nodded after letting out a moan. “Y-yeah… just really wet…”

Formaggio tugged the last remaining cloth off of you, your sensitive heat now exposed to the cold air. Formaggio marveled at how wet you were, bringing a hand up to rub little circles around your clit once more.

“Yeah… you’re ready.”

It wasn’t long until you both gave in. With a quick motion, Formaggio tugged off his boxers, releasing his hardened cock. Leaning in to give him a deep kiss, your hands came down and gave the length a few tentative strokes before you leaned forward, lining up his head with your entrance. Formaggio groaned feeling your wet warmth seep over him, taking his cock in hand and rubbing its tip with your sensitive slit. You shook desperately at the teasing, your hands coming to Formaggio’s shoulders and gripping tightly. Taking the hint to finally give in, Formaggio aligns himself with your hole. You let out a loud gasp as he sunk your hips down to meet with his until he was finally bottomed out inside of you. You hissed at the brief feeling of discomfort before your hips began to instinctively move up and down to provide sweet friction between you two. You rested your head on Formaggio’s shoulder as your hips worked his cock up and down, your walls squeezing at the head for extra intensity.

“Mmm… yeah… keep going just like that dear. Oh fuck you’re so tight. You’re so good for me baby.”

Formaggio kept his hands tightly gripping onto your hips as he helped you moved along his shaft, the young man getting more and more turned on by the lustful moans leaving you for him to hear.

You could stay there forever, being this close to him, in complete bliss. It felt so good. So right. But your drunken mind had forgotten one important thing. Or well… person.

Without either of you noticing, the door to Mista’s bedroom opened, the younger man walking out, starting to talk to you.

“Hey (y/n), sorry I was in my room for so long. Fugo had called to talk about a mission next week and it took a long time cause I’m drunk and I can’t really think straight you… know…”

Mista looked up to see you and Formaggio together on his couch, the other man’s back facing him, both of you lost in pleasure and enjoying each other’s company. Hearing the sounds escaping your lips, Mista got the idea of what the two of you were doing, but he didn’t have any idea what he should do about it. He didn’t have to think long however when you glanced up and saw him in standing there, watching you and Formaggio fuck. You stiffened, stopping your hips movements and covering up your chest with your arms.

Formaggio charmingly asked, “what’s wrong sweetie? Was is feeling too good-wait what?” He snickered before turning around to where you were looking to see Mista as well, muttering an understanding “oh.”

Quickly sobering up, you tried to leave Formaggio’s lap, only to find his strong grip was holding you down onto his cock. You looked over at Mista, unable to meet his gaze, embarrassed that you were still moaning slightly at the pleasurable contact.

“Mista I’m so sorry I um… I know I promised you I wouldn’t do anything with Formi tonight but um… I’m sorry. And I’ll make it up to you I-”

“Can I join you?”

Both you and Formaggio were understandably surprised at such words, both turning to the younger stand user curiously. The thought caused you to grow in arousal even further. “Join us?” You asked.

He walked over to you two, still joined together, and sat nearby on the couch. You glanced down to see that the other man had already become hard in mere moments. Mista glanced up at you, his hand slowly going to stroke his own length through the fabric of his pants.

“Yeah… I figure I could get better at fucking you if I learn from him, (y/n). Plus… it’s kinda hot.”

Reaching over, Mista placed a tentative hand on one of your bare tits, the other hand more roughly stroking himself. You watched as Mista’s face grew bright red in embarrassment and desperation. You got the sense that he’s had the idea of joining you and Formaggio for a while now. Speaking of which, Formaggio soon took you out of your drunken thoughts by cackling loudly at what Mista was proposing. All three of you lacked common sense after a night of drinks, and it had already begun to show.

“So you think I’m better than you huh? Alright, fine.”

Formaggio looked Mista up and down, the assassin’s confidence boring a hole into the young man’s embarrassment. Mista sighed, slowly nodding.

“Yeah. I do.” He muttered shyly.

You sighed. “Or… you two could share me.”

The two men looked at each other, a smile on each of their faces. A smile came to you, leaning down to grasp Mista’s face in one hand, meeting your lips with his. The other hand brought Formaggio’s mouth to your tits. He soon figured what you wanted and resumed his ministrations there, biting and sucking at your sensitive skin.

Mista hungrily leaned into your touch, bringing the kiss deeper as his tongue intertwined with yours. The noises leaving him signaled that he was already hard enough to take you, but Formaggio was having none of that.

He placed a strong hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Sit down Mista. I’ll teach you a few pointers, but I’m going first.” He growled before grabbing your chin in one hand to pry you two apart, taking your lips for his own. Mista sat back and watched the two lovers return to their previous passions before he so rudely interrupted them. Too desperate to remain in his clothes, Mista stripped down and sat next to you on the couch, his hand going down his body to start stroking his already sensitive cock.

It didn’t take much to get Guido Mista going. The fact that he wasn’t the most experienced sexually didn’t help his case either. Just one sight of you getting fucked by someone obviously more adept than him, had his cock twitching and beginning to leak precum.

Formaggio, amidst his rough pounding of your body, eyed the other’s member, seeing how turned on he was. It gave him quite the ego boost to have the younger soldato realize that you belonged to him, the man fucking you in that moment instead of the boy pathetically watching.

Mista wanted to learn from him on how to please you.

Formaggio’s hips sped up further, the pressure in his lower half building ever closer to his release. He watched your face twist in euphoria, until an idea came to him. His hand came behind you, and in a swift motion, he slapped down hard on your ass in a loud spanking. You moaned loudly at the slap before Formaggio took your cheeks in his hand again and turned you to face Mista, who was still jacking off at the sight of you two.

“Go on dolcezza, tell Guido how good it feels for me to fuck you.”

Mista groaned at such words. He didn’t know why getting cucked like this by Formaggio did so much to him. All three of you were into it, but no one knew why.

Formaggio spanked you again, harder this time. “Go on sweetie, tell him. Tell him how much you also like it when I spank you.”

You whimpered as Formaggio lifted you up higher to bounce you up and down his shaft. “Oh god. It feels so good, he fills me so well ugh…”

Formaggio spanked you again. “Is he better than me?”

You bit down hard on your lip, too embarrassed to say. One last strike on your ass caused you to blurt out, “no… you’re better Formi!”

Mista hissed after hearing you say that, reaching his first climax, his cum running down his hand, yet his member remained hard all the same. You grabbed his hand away from his length, leaving him trembling. Making eye contact with him, you brought his hand to your mouth, sucking and licking the cum off his fingers, an act that had both men groaning in needy desire for you. Formaggio bit onto his lip hard. His cock was reaching its peak. Hurriedly, he let go of his tight grip on your hips.

“Get off (y/n). I wanna cum in your mouth.”

You quickly get off of his lap, kneeling in front of him on the floor. You were about to suck him off before he spoke again.

“Aww come on dear. Don’t you think you should help Mista too? Don’t be selfish, baby, he should find out how much you love being taken from behind…”

He grinned and Mista let out a moan, his hand already working up to his second orgasm. You smiled, sharing a knowing look with the assassin before you climbed onto the couch on all fours and began to blow him. Mista brought his hand up to your dripping heat, and ran a nervous finger over your aching clit, causing you to moan around the other man’s cock. You focused on your attention on the blow job, bobbing your head up and down the long shaft. Mista hesitated to move forward into you, wondering if he should ask for what to do.

Formaggio rolled his eyes at the other’s nerves. “Just take her already, man. She’s a big girl, she can take it.”

He teased, prompting Mista to get on his knees, lining his rod with your gaping hole. You were feeling too empty after Formaggio had pulled out, a problem Mista was about to fix.

In one quick motion, Mista plunged into you and you gasped, stopping your blow job for a moment. Mista wasn’t as long as Formaggio, but oh god was he thicker. It felt so good to have him inside you. He started off with slow, shallow thrusts, nervous that he might hurt you or that you didn’t like what he was doing. Of course, he was wrong. One harder thrust already had you losing your mind on his cock.

“Oh god… Mista.”

You whimpered before Formaggio grabbed a fistful of your hair and brought you down on his cock, its tip reaching the back of your throat.

“Pay attention to me baby, keep blowing me. I’ll teach Mista how to fuck you right.”

Humming in pleasure as you continued using your mouth on him, Formaggio leaned back, his body slick with sweat from your efforts. Both men were lost in pleasure over how incredible you made them feel. Still, the two of them were nothing if not troublemakers.

“Hey Mista, enough of this pathetic ‘love-making’ shit. You gotta do better than that. Hasn’t (y/n) told you how much she likes it rough?”

He grinned, keeping your head down as he rammed his length in and out of your mouth, gagging you slightly. It wasn’t long until, with one final thrust, the assassin reached his limit and came down your throat. You choked a bit, but managed to swallow it all down. Formaggio let go of your hair, brushing it out of your pretty, blushing face. He didn’t realize how much he’d fallen back in love with you. You were so good for him.

Formaggio smiled, still panting. “Oh god… I love you baby. Come here.”

He pulled you forward, giving you a brief kiss before you broke the contact with a moan at one of Mista’s particularly hard movements. Mista, having seen how rough the other man was handling you, threw his hesitation out the window and began to pound you even faster. Formaggio reveled in your elated expression at the quickened pace and decided to kick it up a notch.

“Hey Mista, has (y/n) ever told you how much she loved having her hair pulled?”

Formaggio joked breathlessly, still recovering slightly from his huge orgasm. Mista looked down at your moaning form as you bounced desperately on his cock, an overconfidence smirk coming to him at his new found arrogance.

“No ‘Formi’, I don’t think she has!”

He teased back, grabbing your hair in one hand and pulling it back to fuck you even harder than before. Your head came back and Mista leaned forward to make eye contact with you as he ground his hips against yours. Both of you felt your orgasms approaching.

Formaggio a little embarrassed at Mista using his pet name, nonetheless, turned to you in confidence. “Does it feel good baby? Do you like his dick?”

“Y-yeah… it feels so good.” You managed to moan out.

“Are you gonna cum from him fucking you, baby?”

“Y-yeah…”

Formaggio reached down, a practiced finger moving to rub directly on your clit. The action brought you over the edge, and soon you let out a loud gasp as your climax washed over you, causing your whole form to tremble in jubilation. Feeling your walls clench down on his length, Mista reached his end soon after, pulling out and cumming all over your back.

Formaggio set you down gently on the couch while Mista came to his senses, the three of you all panting in the thick, musky air of the apartment. You were the first to speak.

“Oh my god… that was incredible you two.”

You giggled. You tried standing up to get dressed, your legs failing you after your intense climax. Formaggio caught your fall, and you shyly thanked him.

“Umm… we should do that again sometime…”

The prospect caused the two light headed men to look at each other in shock. “Really? You wanna?!”

You grinned mischievously and each of them remembered why they fell in love with you. You were just as nuts as they were.

“Yeah, are you kidding? A girl can’t just pass up another night with her two boyfriends.”

Formaggio raised an eyebrow at the last part. “Two boyfriends huh? I thought I was just the side piece.”

You chuckled, finally finding enough strength to stand up over them.

“I’ll keep you around for more caro. I love you too much not to. Both of you. Now... I feel gross. Which one of you boys wants to join me in the shower?”

Both Mista and Formaggio looked at you in shock at your crude words, watching you head down the hall. Mista turned to Formaggio.

“How’d we get so lucky?”

“You mean how’d I get so lucky? I had her first…”

Mista rolled his eyes. “Alright stronzo, how’d you get so lucky?”

Formaggio thought for a moment, realizing how incredible you really were. “I don’t even know…”

With that, the two of them shared a grin and rushed down the hall as well to head to where you were. The fun was only beginning for that night.

#jjba #not sfw #jjba writing #formaggio #guido mista #part 5 #Vento Aureo #jojo's bizzare adventure golden wind #la squadra #bruno's gang #long fic #fem reader #cw drinking #cw dirty talk #cw degradation #cw cucking

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gone-series-orchid · 4 years ago

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If there ever does happen to be a Gone TV shows, is there anything that you would want them to do/ change?? I've been thinking about it a lot recently and I think it has the potential to be good but at the same time I feel like (and this is such a rare line of thought from me) if they strictly stick to canon it could be...uncomfortable??

that’s an interesting thought! i think i get what you’re saying. there's a lot of distinctly uncomfortable moments in the series that i think mg didn’t really think through the implications of (like caine’s veiled rape threat to diana that i guess isn’t supposed to affect our feelings toward him to such a degree that we don’t want him to get redeemed, lots of caine being evil for the sake of it, sam being horrible to astrid because she wouldn’t have sex with him, everyone being racist to edilio in the first book and then it...never really comes up again except for the human crew’s cartoonishly evil bigotry which also doesn’t have lasting impact on the fayz after zil and lance die). oof, and that isn’t even touching all the ableism informing little pete and the misogyny you detailed in your post!

if there was anything i’d like the show to do, it’d probably be to streamline the plot a little. like, i love the series, but it gets super messy. the events that happen in individual books seem to rarely carry over aside from major character beats. i love the books’ individual contained subplots, like those that center the perspectives of duck zhang and hunter and zil, and i really hope the tv show maintains them without minimizing them. i think they do a lot to flesh out the fayz’s general population and the scale of morality mg is dealing with. and of course i really hope they adapt orc’s subplot, which is my favorite. but i think some other stuff could be minimized--i liked orsay, but what was the point of giving her a pov? she lessened in importance almost right off the bat once she entered the fayz; she was just a tool for nerezza. and nerezza herself seems like an odd character. i really enjoyed lies for astrid’s arc and the general focus on the fayz’s politics/morality, but honestly i think the tv show should cut back on nerezza and focus on the human villains, meaning zil and the human crew...honestly i think most of my suggestions would be on the structure of the show throughout its seasons (i’m thinking idealistically, of course), because tv shows are so different from books. i guess i worry about the focus being all over the place because there’s so many different povs throughout the books! speaking of...

this may completely contradict my prior point but i literally love the rotating povs of the books and i kind of wish that would be amped up a little in the show? like, instead of being mostly focused on sam with subplots focusing on other characters scattered throughout, i’d love if it was a little more of an ensemble show. in the first season (which i imagine would adapt the first book), i’d really love maybe a few scenes showing off howard and orc’s characters in more detail. we get that scene in gone where orc reveals his father’s abusive nature, and that’s definitely essential if they want to give him some pathos and set up his arc, but i’d love to have little moments where the audience just sees the kids of bully row just vandalizing stuff and messing around. like, establishing that as dumb and bullying as they are, they’re still just kids, and they’re nothing compared to the outright villainy of caine and drake. we get that vibe in the first book, definitely, but i think we’d need more scenes establishing that. i’d love it if we saw that there are certain lines that howard and orc as bullies wouldn’t cross. that would make us feel even more shocked when orc accidentally murders bette. also, i hope we’re shown that scene in the show instead of just being told about it like in the book.

i also hope that the first season gives astrid, like, an actual job/role to fill? there’s like a line in gone where sam calls her his assistant, but i kind of wish she’d be deemed the fayz’s resident researcher or something, preferably before she gets together with sam (which i’ll talk about later) so that the only job description the audience has of her isn’t “sam’s girlfriend.” i also really want the show to give us a couple scenes establishing astrid and edilio as potential leaders of the fayz as well, not just automatically discounting them because they’re not the protagonist. sam can still eventually come out on top, i guess, because it happens in canon, but at least let the characters discuss it in more detail.

also, i want little pete to have an actual relationship with astrid! show how much they care for each other in their own way. astrid can still have her negative feelings toward the responsibility she has in taking care of him, but alongside that should be love. astrid should also keep working with him on his therapy as a means of communicating with him more effectively, which is something i’m super frustrated no one thought to do in canon!

as for character relationships...i sort of wish astrid and sam don’t get together in the first season. focus on building up their friendship first. sam can still have his crush, but there should maybe be some tension whether astrid reciprocates or not. remember that weird plot point where it’s revealed in the later books that astrid was manipulating sam in order to get his protection? even though there’s like...no indication of that in the first book? bring that in from astrid’s pov, with her realizing how dangerous the fayz is (maybe after bette dies). make it ambiguous whether she’s really romantically interested in him. give her sympathy; show her fear for herself and her little brother’s safety. and show sam and her friendship! but also there’s ambiguity there. that maybe could be a cliffhanger for season 1--is astrid tricking sam, or does she really like him? bonus: it’s her that initiates their first kiss, preferably at the very end of the season instead of happening midway through, just before sam goes off to battle. though sam has a crush on astrid, she’s not his reason for not poofing; instead, he thinks of his friends and the innocent kids he’d be leaving behind to the mercy of caine and realizes that he has a responsibility he can’t shirk.

also...flashbacks!! i’d love it if we got flashbacks through each episode (with the focus being on one individual character per episode) of the characters’ family dynamics. would give the characters more depth and pathos right off the bat. maybe leave off on that for antagonists like drake and caine though. speaking of--show diana’s better qualities!!! show her fear of the rapidly escalating events happening at coates, show her tenuous grasp on caine, show the vulnerability behind the mask of glib snark. maybe she reveals this vulnerability when she’s alone. maybe show her trying to persuade caine not to string up andrew in order to observe the proof. show her looking on in horror at the kids’ cemented hands. little things like that can go a long way to humanize her. also, show the casual sexualization she’s subjected to by her peers at coates--maybe that could be part of the reason why she doesn’t leave immediately after caine does evil stuff. maybe she feels like she wants revenge for the things she suffered in the past from her classmates. it’s a misplaced sense for vengeance, but it’s still sympathetic. and diana can realize “oh, this was a huge mistake” the minute things get real. make her desire to be caine’s queen an extension of her trauma over her past powerlessness, subjected to the abuse of her mom’s boyfriends. don’t necessarily make her a wilting flower, keep her pettiness and meanness, but give her a little more humanity!

also--okay this is more of a self-indulgent thing but--i’d like more scenes between orc and astrid! just a few, just to flesh out their relationship a tiny bit in the first season so the coates scene* comes off as powerfully as possible. remember when orc was okay with drake potentially torturing astrid because he didn’t want to lose face in front of sam in the first book? because he was too prideful to admit he cared for her? show astrid reacting to that! show astrid using that to attempt to sway him to her and sam’s side! maybe there’s a moment where, in the scene where the kids see orc’s growing mutation, orc catches a glimpse of the bruise on astrid’s cheek from drake’s slap and feels visible regret. maybe astrid notices that and tries to subtly manipulate him over to the side of good, while still having genuine compassion for what’s happening to him mutation-wise. i just think their dynamic is so good and i’d love for astrid to utilize one of the few personal connections she had pre-fayz.

anyway, this is getting way too long, so i’ll cut it off here. sorry for the length! thank you very much for the ask! :)

*the coates scene in plague is one of those few scenes in the series that comes off as exactly as uncomfortable as mg intended, imo. like the implications probably should have carried over to orc’s arc a little more but still! i want it to be preserved in the tv show. it could be so good! the writers would have to tread lightly, but if they get it right, it could be phenomenal (in my obviously biased opinion lol).

#gone series #michael grant #fayz

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aion-rsa · 4 years ago

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Infinity Train Season 4 Struggles To Communicate the Importance of Communication

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This article contains spoilers for Infinity Train season 4.

Infinity Train has a short, but complex history. After a somewhat neglected run on Cartoon Network, the show received new life on HBO Max for a third season. Following that, however, it seemed unclear whether the show could nab another renewal. But enough online attention was garnered to achieve that fourth and final year. (HBO Max also seems to have a much more energetic desire for animated content than other similar networks and streaming outlets).

The first three seasons of Infinity Train are raw, honest, and stark. Its first season follows a young girl coming to terms with her parents divorce and the fleeting, ephemeral nature of memory. The second is a curveball, in which a “reflection” of the girl from the first season comes to life and fights for her own freedom–a wild meta-tale about autonomy, identity, and independence. The third season, which focuses on two chaotic, long-term train passengers, is about abuse, manipulation, (male) toxicity, and violence unchecked.

The expectations for this fourth season, which features two Asian-American kids who find themselves trapped on the train’s bizarre universe, were pretty high. But the thriving potential and expectations laid out for this final season never come to bare. Infinity Train’s “Book Four” (which is how the show brands its seasons) fizzles, with a sort of epilogue feel to its proceedings that never quite reaches the dark, raw highs of its predecessors. The fourth season is ostensibly about the importance of clear, honest communication. But the irony is that the show fails to communicate itself clearly.

Infinity Train season 4 follows Ryan and Min-Gi who are stuck in different places in life, post high-school. Once close friends, connected by their love of music, the two saw life in different ways: Ryan is an idealist and an adventurous, “think before he acts” sort, while Min-Gi is more grounded, level-headed, and cautious, to the point of freezing up. This literally happens when Min-Gi runs from Ryan right before a big high school talent show, a moment which buttresses the unspoken rift between them.

Min-Gi stays home, studies, gets accepted into college. Ryan takes to the road, doing various shows anywhere he can, and seems to make some modest success, despite losing several girlfriends along the way. Ryan returns home to see Min-Gi working at his parents’ restaurant, and the two catch up, with low-key tension surging between them. Impudently, Ryan rushes off with the restaurant’s keys, and Min-Gi chases him. The two rush onto a train, then somehow find the doorway into the Infinity Train. This is how our protagonist duo finds themselves onboard the mystical, mysterious caboose.

What makes Infinity Train’s previous seasons work so well was how they start out somewhat basic but quickly leap into unexpected places with depth and nuance. Its highs are immensely high; its lows are dark, sparse, and painful. Its protagonists are self-assured but deeply lost, and in their quest to find themselves, they both open up new layers about themselves, as well as the nature of the very quixotic train itself. This fourth season doesn’t quite do this.

There’s a unique wrinkle in this venture, in that Ryan and Min-Gi are paired with the exact same “number” (the mysterious number that appears on passengers’ hands that “countdown” positive character improvements that leads to their freedom), an occurrence that is clocked by the show as particularly strange. But there’s no real internal, or external, revelation into why the train decided to pair them together like that. (To be fair, I think the train conductor did have a reason, but the bold choice to have this season take place prior to the other three muddles things; in the midst of Ryan and Min-Gi’s journey, Ameila’s takeover of the train happens.) But unlike the protagonists of the previous seasons, Ryan and Min-Gi never venture off to examine the train as a whole. In effect, Ryan and Min-Gi’s journey is surprisingly straight-forward, a kind of winking idea to what essentially any person’s journey on the train would look like.

It’s a bold move to portray a “regular” journey for a final season, but it’s disappointing in that it never takes this (non-train) time to really explore its characters in new ways. The contrasts between Ryan and Min-Gi are pretty boilerplate–the free spirited, snap-decision maker vs. the grounded, level-headed thinker is as common a duo as it comes. But the more concrete revelations of these characters never quite make an impact.

Min-Gi mentions that his parents never paid any attention to him and ignored him and his dreams. There’s hints of a darker sense of parental neglect here, but it never gets laid out. Likewise with Ryan, who speaks often of the pressure his parents put on him to study, work, and go to school. With no other info about the way he and his parents specifically conflicted over this, it feels abstract. The first episode, “The Twin Tapes,” sporadically has the emotional heft of these interpersonal dilemmas, but never really examines them in the characters themselves, not in the way that Infinity Train often allowed its characters to feel.

In effect, these characters are talking around each other but not really communicating; neither seems to react or (try to) understand the others’ perspective. They aren’t introspective about each other, and the frustrations and issues that Ryan and Min-Gi vocalize during their journey feel more like soliloquies than conversations. They talk but they don’t communicate; as a result, their potential characterizations aren’t communicating, and therefore not connecting, to the audience.

This is disappointing because perhaps the one thing that seems to be the gel of this season–Ryan and Min-Gi’s relationship–never elevates itself to the level a final season should. The two fight a lot, and those fights are valid, emotional, honest, clunky, anodyne, awkward, tedious, immature, silly, and fraught–the multi-emotional ways interpersonal spats tend to be. But they’re never revealing.

I don’t think I’m overstepping here to say that there is at least some queer subtext between the two; an early moment in the first episode has Min-Gi blush profusely when Ryan gives him a hug of appreciation. But in that same episode, Ryan’s rotation of failed girlfriends suggest that the queer angle is merely one-sided; fair, but Infinity Train never addresses that either. If Infinity Train was mandated to play down that angle (a common reality due to the pressures and demands of studios and networks), then there’s always the nature of two friends of wildly different personalities clashing before coming to an understanding.

It’s basic, but it can work. As mentioned earlier though, there’s little revealed about the history of these characters at an individual level, so their interpersonal tension never goes anywhere meaningful. The previous three seasons used various sci-fi/magic/fantastical methods to delve deep into the particular pasts and truths of its protagonists, presenting multiple sides to their current problems. Book Four never does that beyond the first episode, and it feels like we’re missing something. Ryan and Min-Gi just cycle through bouts of random verbal fights and endearing truces–right to the very end.

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The catty nature of this conflict could work though, if the storytelling here wasn’t so clunky, something that Infinity Train is usually very good at managing. There’s moments where the show struggles to engage in conflicts organically, and is forced to make its characters act dumber than necessary. I don’t know how even the most impulsive characters would decide to “dig underground” to try to sneak into the building (weird train logic not understanding). When Ryan’s number goes down, Min-Gi, who is usually reserved and low-key, spends an uncomfortable amount of time belittling Ryan as the one who needed to learn a lesson, not him.

Season four’s most dramatic moment is centered around a museum that hosts an malevolent force which compels its victims to act and say terrible things, but the force is not particularly well explored. It’s stunningly, beautifully horrifying: a series of hands contorted into a grotesque monster. The hands have numbers on them, too, an horrific implication that comes close to fruition with Min-Gi in its grasp. But the rhythms of the scene are somewhat shoddy; Ryan escapes by accident, and has no idea how to get back to Min-Gi to save him. Ryan’s desire to save him causes his number to go down and his path home opens up; he thinks about leaving, and his number goes back up, closing off the path.

It’s a moment worth exploring, sure, but it never gets its due because Min-Gi eventually escapes the hands monster, but blames Ryan for leaving him. He didn’t, but the season puts so much dramatic emphasis here that it sort of represents the most significant tension of the characters. But it just comes off awkward, especially since that (misunderstood) anger is barely present in the next episode.

But that’s on purpose, I think, to try and get at the deeper, more complex issue of the lack of clear communication between these two. And it’s definitely worthy of a topic. But it never quite wraps its head around that point, and that’s partly because the season never gets into why they don’t talk. The queer subtext is out. They never get too much into their pasts, only hints. The estrangement angle and abandonment issues are under-explored. Their connection is over their shared love of music, but that feels like a singular weak connection, in comparison to the stakes. They’re friends, but Infinity Train fails to explore the full extent of their friendship and the nature of the understated conflicts between them. There’s certainly a lot of emotional drama between them, and it’s played as earnest and honest as possible, but there’s little information about them to heft up that drama. By the end, these characters are still ciphers.

Kez, the floating, talking bell that “guides” Ryan and Min-Gi, feels more well-rounded. Her wonky, circuitous way of talking feels like a quirky character trait at first but is revealed to be a purposeful method of ignoring the problems she causes and not taking accountability of them. The enemies she made chase after her (and by proxy, Ryan and Min-Gi). She’s ridiculed by “other” friends for her unreliability, then is called out by the humans when it’s revealed she was only stringing them along to satisfy Morgan, a talking castle. And that’s happening because a passenger, Jeremy, bonded with Morgan and Kez for five years in the midst of deep, deep grief and self-blame for an accident that killed Jeremy’s wife and sister.

Kez’s style of talking inadvertently spurred Jeremy to accept and move on from the accident, sending him home. But that triggered an assortment of resentment between Kez and Morgan, as well as the ire of the other train denizens on their heels. Kez’s final admission, saying sorry, eases all those tensions, which feels a little simple for past grievances, but at the core there’s depth and history there, even implied, which provides a richness to those characters that Ryan and Min-Gi lack.

That’s the thing: Kez’s dilemma, in that lack of communication, forgiveness, and atonement, is the thematic parallel of the tension between Ryan and Min-Gi. But while Kez’s story has enough implications around the edges to feel interesting, Ryan and Min-Gi, the season’s protagonists, don’t have enough of it to match the powerful moments of seasons one through three.

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Season four is certainly fine as is, and has plenty of funny moments, as well as quietly honest ones. But it never quite provides the impactful revelation or scenes that Infinity Train usually provides to transcend Ryan and Min-Gi into something singularly clear and open. Communication and clarity is the key to any relationship, but Book Four mumbles its story straight to the end–not as clear as the bell on Kez’s head.

Infinity Train season 4 is available to be streamed on HBO Max now.

The post Infinity Train Season 4 Struggles To Communicate the Importance of Communication appeared first on Den of Geek.

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seokmins · 4 years ago

Text

Don’t - JJK

ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟙 of Physical

"Just be careful,” Yoongi cautioned. “Don’t get caught in something you don’t want to end up in.”

“Yoongi!” Jimin exclaimed. “Our baby is growing up! He’s developing feelings - !”

【ˢᵉʳⁱᵉˢ ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡⁱˢᵗ || ᴮᵀˢ ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡⁱˢᵗ || ᴹᵃⁱⁿ ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡⁱˢᵗ】

💞 🄿🄰🄸🅁🄸🄽🄶: Jeon Jungkook x Reader 📚 🄶🄴🄽🅁🄴: Fluff, Angst (?) 🌟 🅁🄰🅃🄸🄽🄶: T 💬ⓌⒸ: 3k ⚠️ 🅆🄰🅁🄽🄸🄽🄶🅂: Swear words? Suggestiveness? Gosh idk.

💫 (っ ◔◡◔)っɛƖ۷'ʂ ŋơɬɛʂ 💕:

I think this switches POV a few times, hope it’s not confusing 😅 I think [Y/N] is an interestingly shallow character hmmm 😆. I don’t really know names for dance moves bear with me. This is gonna lead to a series whee 🤭

“1... 2... 3. 1... 2... Oof!” A muffled curse and a hard thump sounded inside the supposed to be empty dance practice room. Jungkook frowned, it wasn’t uncommon to pass by someone as they left if they stayed a little longer through the half-hour time-slot between booking appointments. But to still hear angry counts and crashes fifteen minutes after his reserved time did not make him particularly thrilled. He hesitantly peeked his head in, the creak of the door drowned out by the on and off music now blasting as a girl once again counted out her steps.

[Y/N] came tumbling down, tripping over her two feet. Again. Sweat coated her entire body as she glared at her glistening forehead in the full-length mirror. She had tried numerous times over the past week to nail that footwork, but today was particularly rough. One more time her mind screamed even as her body ached.

“Is that the new choreo?” A gentle voice asked as she paused to reset the music back, causing her to yelp in shock. She broke out in a cold sweat as if she wasn’t already drenched enough. Primal fear coursed through her as she recognized just who was standing at the door, fit in his oversized hoodie, white baseball cap, and combat boots. Yes, Jeon flipping Jungkook in all his big-shot glory. She gulped.

“Hello.” [Y/N] bowed formally, cursing herself for looking like a bedraggled, wet rat. Of course, most people don’t look too swell during dance practice (unless they were BTS) and of course, it wasn’t as if she had never been in the same room, breathing the same air as Jungkook. After all, she shared the stage with him and the rest of the esteemed members. “Yes, I’ve been trying to perfect the footwork for next week. I’ve been practicing for... Oh my gosh - !”

Jungkook chuckled. It looked as if this was the first time she’d actually looked at the clock and he couldn’t help wonder just how long had she been here - and how long she planned to stay. “Ya know, this is the reason why there are bookings. Not just so everyone can get some practice in, but also so you don’t overwork yourself.” He hummed casually (in his angelic voice) and strode over to hand her a water bottle from his vast supply hidden in his duffel bag.

“I...Thank you.” [Y/N] murmured, grateful and shocked by his kind gesture. She’d save this water bottle forever. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cut into your practice, I totally lost track of time.” Hastily gulping some water, she made to gather her items and skedaddle out of there, but Jungkook cleared his throat, halting her.

“Hey, stay a while. You need to cool down and I need to warm up.” A chance to one-on-one cool down solely with the Jeon Jungkook. An opportunity of a lifetime. “You’re... [Y/N] right?”

[Y/N] blinked. He knew her name. “Y-yes. I’m, uh, Lee Minho’s little sister. Um, you prolly don’t remember him, he’s -”

“- a member of Stray Kids.” Jungkook interrupted, glancing a little sardonically at her as he stretched one arm over the other. “Yes, I recall, he was on the Wings tour?” [Y/N] blinked. “I can see the talent flows in the family then.”

“Uh, wow. Thanks. I’m not so sure about that. I’ve taken forever to learn these moves. Even though I helped come up with these moves, I can’t execute them perfectly yet.”

“Wait, you came up with these?”

“Oh, uh yeah - yes. I... talked with one of the choreographers and they loved my idea. I have to perfect it just right so I can be ready by the deadline or it’ll be disastrous for the comeback.”

“That’s really impressive. Thank you. We appreciate your talent.” He said, smiling his signature bunny-tooth smile. [Y/N] blushed, even more so when she realized she had been wearing a sports bra. Having finally ‘cooled’ down, she grabbed her loose shirt and threw it back on. It didn’t help that she could feel Jungkook’s gaze on her, making her burn.

“It’s nothing, really. Um, it was nice talking to you. Really. I gotta go now. Sorry again for disturbing you.”

“No, it’s really not a problem at all.” He soothed. “Hey, maybe next time you book an appointment, let me know. Maybe we could chat more.” Jungkook waved his phone around, displaying the digital booking website for the dance practice room. “Huh, message me on KakaoTalk?” He offered.

“Oh, uh, ok. Uh yes definitely.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. That was a little presumptuous of me.” Warm redness rapidly spread up his neck to his cheeks. For the first time during their interaction, [Y/N] smiled at him.

“No, not at all.”

“Hoseok, you know that one girl who came up with the idea for our new choreo?” As casually as he could, the maknae questioned his hyung.

“Yeah, not very well, but she’s super talented from what I hear the dance team say. She leads a lot of the practices for the rest of the backup dancers to help them learn, almost like a professional teacher and choreographer.”

“Wow, I had no idea,” Jungkook admitted. [Y/N] hadn’t told him about that during their weekly meetings. Granted she didn’t talk much about herself in general.

“Well, it’s not that uncommon. While we try to get to know all of our staff, it’s impossible to get very close because of how often they rotate in and out.” Namjoon reassured him although the two other members of the maknae line grinned knowingly at their fellow member.

“I think Jungkookie here has a little crush on [Y/N]-ie.” Jimin teased as Taehyung voiced his agreement. Jungkook felt the red hot flush make its way up to his cheeks again. It seemed to be happening more and more these days.

“No, you’re wrong. I-... how do you even know her name?” He stuttered out.

“I may or may not have looked at your phone,” Jimin smirked. “As if we haven’t noticed you’ve been sneaking around doing a lot of dance practice when we haven’t even been told the final choreo.”

“I have to keep in shape, it’s better to get a taste of some part of it so it’s easier to learn the final version.”

“Uh-huh. That was actually a good excuse.” Seokjin laughed. “But you can’t fool us. You learn the choreography practically instantaneously... and you’ve never done that before for other comebacks.”

"Just be careful,” Yoongi cautioned. “Don’t get caught in something you don’t want to end up in.”

“Yoongi!” Jimin exclaimed. “Our baby is growing up! He’s developing feelings - !”

“I’m just saying.” He shrugged.

“I’m not doing anything bad. I’m just making a new friend, besides ARMY is my one and only love.” Jungkook sulked. “Stop making a big deal out of nothing.”

His leader rubbed a hand on the maknae’s slumped shoulders. “We just want you aware of the implications. Even if you’re ‘just friends’ as you said, rumors will fly if you’re close with anyone. We just don’t want a scandal. Especially not before the comeback.”

“I know. I promise nothing will happen.”

“Hey, I heard that there’s a fun dance practice that the backup dancers run` every week and she’s leading this week’s.” Hoseok, always the amicable sunshine brightened the atmosphere. “Why don’t we all go check it out?”

“Yay!” Taehyung cheered. “We can see who Kookie’s so fascinated on!”

“Stop! She’s just a friend!” The group laughed as he pouted.

♫ Adrenaline keeps on rushing in Love the simulation we're dreaming in Don't you agree? Don't you agree? ♫

A step. A twirl. A side-step. Arms waving. A clap. Joy filled [Y/N]’s entire being - adrenaline high as she twirled along to the beat. Dua Lipa’s husky voice boomed through the packed room, stuffy from the people’s energies as they danced. The dancer grinned wide as she stood in the front of the mirror moving her heart out alongside her peers. Each one of them had practiced the random choreo she had thought up and today they were putting it all together.

♫ Hold on just a little tighter Come on Hold on, tell me if you're ready Come on Baby, keep on dancing Let's get physical ♫

She blinked. Even as fast as she moved, the choreo was rather simple in general - muscle memory at the least. Which is why she didn’t stumble when locking direct eye contact with a pair of brown doe eyes paired with a bunny smile. What... what was he doing here, let alone them?

Yes. All seven members squeezed themselves in the back area of the practice room. While it wasn’t too uncommon for Hoseok to pop in on his way home after a practice, throw some pointers, and leave with a bright smile, seeing the star group of Big Hit threw the whole room in for a loop. However, they were professional dancers. They kept dancing - albeit a little on edge, slightly losing their previous unlimited pep during the first half of the song.

“So... [Y/N]-ie is the beauty at the front?” Jimin asked both as loudly and quietly as he could with the loud music. He nudged Jungkook out of his deep catching-her-eye with the girl moving smoothly across the room, in lead and in control. Jungkook had never truly seen her in her natural element, seemingly always so tense.

“Uh, yeah.”

“I can see why Kookie’s so fixated on her.” Taehyung acknowledged, all seven boys focusing on her also, although she didn’t notice having lost Jungkook’s stare and instead concentrating on her moves. But she could feel his presence as intense as if it was just the two of them alone.

♫ Let's get physical Physical Let's get physical Come on, phy-phy-phy-physical ♫

Cheers erupted as the last notes of the song faded, all rushing to give their input on each other’s moves and the choreo - and the choreographer herself. Even Hoseok went to join the masses, caught up in the excitement. Jungkook contemplated if he should join Hoseok or the others as they snuck out the door, offering praise to those they passed so as not to seem standoffish. Unsure, he chose to awkwardly linger by the door as everyone slowly filtered out. Hoseok winked at his maknae as he passed, raising his eyebrows quickly towards [Y/N]’s direction. She as well seemed to be keeping herself busy after her colleagues said goodbye almost sensing Jungkook’s hesitation to leave.

“Hey. What brought you here?”

“Hobi mentioned something about a weekly dance practice.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Wow, it was great seeing you dance.” Normally their meetups consisted of a few conversations while [Y/N] cooled down and Jungkook warmed up - quite similar to their first meeting. However, last week he encouraged her to stay and watch as he danced, yet still, knew very basic information about her and wondered if maybe he was being bothersome. Perhaps she was just entertaining him, too nice or even scared of what he might do lest she say she didn’t want to hang out with him.

“Thank you.”

“I really liked that song, it had a great beat.”

“That was the English version. Did you know Hwasa was featured in another version?”

“No way, she’s a great vocalist.”

“She really is.” [Y/N] hummed. “Here, I can play it for you.” She turned to her phone and pulled up the song.

♫ Although we eye each other You know I’ve read your feeling Don’t you agree? Don’t you agree? ♫

“How’s the choreo for the comeback coming?”

“It’s almost there. I should have it nailed by this week.”

“I can’t wait to see the finalized result.”

Sneak peeks while [Y/N] finished up her final minutes before he announced his presence lent Jungkook a good idea of what their final concept would be. To say he was excited was an understatement. She had true talent and an insightful eye.

♫ You try to hide your feelings You don’t have time just wasting time Don’t you agree? Don’t you agree? ♫

Jungkook swallowed. Internally, he wondered if he was gonna start screaming as he listened to Hwasa’s silkiness as she voiced the lyrics. [Y/N] smiled, motioning to him. “C’mon, do you want to dance?”

♫ Who needs to go to sleep, when I’ve got you next to me? ♫

Pass up an opportunity to dance her? As if. With a shy grin, he accepted the challenge. This might be the first time she’d become so carefree with him and he wasn’t about to lose.

♫ Night is passing There’s no point in hiding it So come on, come on, come on Let’s get physical ♫

Regardless of the girl dancing side-by-side to him, both trying to mimic each other’s moves so they were in sync, Jungkook enjoyed dancing. He even enjoyed dancing with other people, such as his hyungs and fellow Kpop groups. But maybe he enjoyed this just a little more.

♫ Close the door of this room Just us together in this space So come on, come on, come on Let’s get physical ♫

If only it was just that making his heart pound. Jungkook had been around girls before. While he shied away most times, not a single one of those interactions had made him feel like this. [Y/N] put him at ease even before he officially met her. Even dancing didn’t make him feel like this. Blood and adrenaline pumped through his veins and he turned to look right into [Y/N]’s eyes. Both dancers held each other’s gaze that asked the same question - “What are you feeling right now?” The raven-haired man licked his lips nervously, stalling his movements.

“I -. Do you...?” Gosh, he felt ridiculous. But there was no denying the undercurrent, despite their hesitation, that ran between the two.

“Do I...?”

“Do you, uh, find me attractive?” Jungkook almost regretted the words as soon as they came out.

“Gosh, Jungkook. What kind of question is that?” [Y/N] laughed as he blushed profusely. “If you don’t believe the hundred thousands of ARMYs that sing your praises, I don’t know what can convince you if not that.”

He mumbled something she couldn’t catch.

“Hm?”

Brown doe eyes met hers, shyly. “You telling me what you think.”

[Y/N]’s eyes widened as she gulped. “Well. I - just proved there’s no way you’re not attractive.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He turned away from her, thinking about leaving but she cleared her throat.

“Of course I find you attractive. I mean, you’re Jeon Jungkook, Golden Maknae of BTS. I mean... it’s almost intimidating and unfair how good looking you are. And you’re nice, talented, and sweet.” Gasping more than she would be from dancing, [Y/N] shakily met him eye to eye.

♫ All night, I'll riot with you I know you got my back and you know I got you So come on, come on, come on Let's get physical Lights out, follow the noise Baby, keep on dancing like you ain't got a choice ♫

With an unknown surge of confidence blazing through him, Jungkook latched his lips onto hers. Nerves flooded him, yet were soothed as she eagerly met his tender, yet fervent kisses. Grinning lazily as they separated for breath, he led her out of the dance practice room and they stumbled through the empty halls of the Big Hit studios to outside. The moon lit their path as [Y/N] led him to a hotel, flashing her card at the receptionist as Jungkook kissed her neck. He remained attached to her as she swiped her card into the hotel room and before he knew it they tumbled together into the crisp sheets of a bed.

“Is this what you want?” [Y/N] asked, cupping Jungkook’s cheeks as he hovered above her.

“Yes.” Jungkook breathed, ecstasy lacing his whisper. “Is this what you want.”

She answered him with a kiss.

♫ So come on, come on, come on Let's get physical ♫

Jungkook groaned as he awoke to not the sun shining through his windows, but the sound of his phone vibrating. Again and again. Blinking blearily, he grabbed it and answered the call.

“Hello?” He grumbled - voice raw, body sore, and not fully awake.

“Jungkook.” Came the stern voice of Namjoon over the phone. “Where are you?”

“I’m -” The maknae shook himself awake, glancing around, panic filling him. The silence rang awfully loud through the small hotel bedroom. Except for Namjoon’s voice calling him back to attention.

“Jungkook?”

He cleared his throat. “I’m in a hotel. I passed out.”

Namjoon was silent. “I suggest you check your messages. I’ll see you back at the dorm. Try not to get caught again.”

In the quiet of her dorm, [Y/N]’s face was illuminated by the light of her phone screen as she hastily dialed a number. Not even two rings in, the person answered.

“’ Sup, Ugly?” A familiar snide, male voice greeted.

“Is that how you answer your phone now?” She huffed.

He let out a sleepy laugh. “Only how a certain someone looks when she calls me at this hour.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

A pause. [Y/N] knew there was no point beating around the bush and got straight to the point. “I want to take you up on that offer you extended to me.”

That got his attention. It’d been several years since they last talked about the subject and what it entailed - never touching upon it again after the argument that broke out. That was the only reason he knew what she was referring to. If he wasn’t awake before, he was now. “... Are you sure? I thought -”

“Yes. I thought there were no questions asked.”

The man on the other line hesitated. “What happened?”

“Didn’t I just say?”

“But -”

“Look,” [Y/N] interrupted. “Forget it, I-”

“No, no, no. I’m sorry. Come over. But promise we’ll talk. In person, okay?”

“In person.” She agreed. “Thank you.”

“See you soon, then?”

“Yeah. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Breaking! Dispatch has reported that Jeon Jungkook of BTS was seen entering a hotel with an unknown woman late last night. Big Hit has yet to comment on the situation.

💫 (っ ◔◡◔)っɛƖ۷'ʂ ŋơɬɛʂ 💕:

Physical - by Dua Lipa / Physical by Dua Lipa ft. Hwasa & Lyric videos ➡️ links will be given under the series’ masterlist.

Hehehe another song might be added too 😉

I finished writing this at 2 am. It’s rough. I know this moved fast but O well. If anyone reads this, let me know if they want tagged in Part 2!

#jeon jungkook #bts #bts fanfic #jeon jungkook fanfc #jjk fanfic #jungkook x reader #jjk fic #kim namjoon #jung hoseok #kpop #kpop fic #bts fic #jjk x reader #ezraliawrites #ezralia vali #physical

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